


A Taste of Honey

by biremus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Anxiety, Chronically Ill Remus Lupin, Fluff, Food Poisoning, Friends to Lovers, Gay Remus Lupin, Gay Sirius Black, Getting Together, Love Triangles, Marauders, Modern Marauders (Harry Potter), Multi, POV Remus Lupin, Panic Attacks, Some Remus Lupin/Frank Longbottom, The Great British Bake Off, Vomiting, Welsh Remus Lupin, ok trigger warnings time, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 50,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biremus/pseuds/biremus
Summary: Never in a million years did Remus Lupin anticipate he would be picked as a contestant on his favourite television show,The Great British Bake Off. Life was complicated enough, what with crushing housemates and long-distance friendships - he didn't need to be dragged into prank wars with the other bakers, no matter how pretty some of them were. He was just trying to survive until the next week without making a fool of himself in front of the entire nation. Sirius Black, it seemed, had other ideas.Modern non-magic AU in which the marauders and co. take part in the Great British Bake Off.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 66
Kudos: 68





	1. Cake

**Author's Note:**

> I do not support JKR or her bigotry. To me, writing HP fic is a celebration of the fanworks I enjoyed and consumed growing up and not a celebration of the creations of a racist transphobe.
> 
> Anyways, stan MsKingBean89.

_Excerpt from The Great British Bake Off Rules of Entry, Love Productions (2019):_

_“11. When selecting applicants for ‘The Great British Bake Off’ the following will be taken into account: skill, enthusiasm, drive, love of baking, lively characters who are comfortable being filmed. Initial selection will be based on the application forms and telephone interviews. In addition the Producers may (but may not) invite short listed applicants to attend an interview at their discretion. We will be looking for a mix of finalists to reflect the range in age, location, gender and diversity of amateur bakers in Britain.”_

***

Remus Lupin sat at the dining table of the house he shared with 3 people he barely knew, nibbling idly on a homemade vegan jaffa cake that he had decided was definitely a failed experiment. The cake was rubbery, and the jelly hadn’t set properly, making them slightly damp and ensuring the chocolate hadn’t solidified. Still, he supposed, at least they were delicious.

As he chewed, he stared at the screen of his phone. He was waiting for a call. Or, at least, he was hoping for one.

Two weeks previously, Remus had found himself in the ridiculous situation of performing a test-run technical challenge in front of cameras in the third round of auditions for _The Great British Bake Off_ , something that, for the past 6 years, had seemed like the idle dream of a man who was starting to go slightly mental. He probably _did_ seem mental, from an outside perspective, sitting at the table making his way through a pile of congealed spongy cakes and chocolate, never taking his eyes off his seemingly dead smartphone, but this is what he had been driven to. He’d been sat like this between the hours of 8am and 5pm every day for _two_ weeks. Bloody _Bake Off_. Remus stuffed another soggy jaffa cake into his mouth and groaned, pressing the home button on his phone just to make sure that he hadn’t missed a call when he was blinking, or something.

Still nothing. Remus hated that they didn’t give you a deadline for production decisions at this stage in the process. It just made him even more anxious.

He reached down for another cake but instead only found empty crockery. Frowning, he placed his phone on the plate and carried it through to the kitchen where he began the slow process of washing up. It was slow because he was still glancing at his phone every three seconds, and because he hadn’t bothered to clean his baking utensils yet. He was halfway through his pile, washing a small bowl that he had used to make the chocolate topping, when a high, piercing ring screamed from his phone.

The bowl smashed.

“Hello?” Remus held the now soapy and dripping phone to his ear, feeling his heart hammering against his chest. This had to be it, this had to be the call.

He was on the phone for less than two minutes in total, and he wasn’t sure he’d even said anything. Filming was to start in 6 weeks, and a list of bake briefs was to be emailed to him by the end of the day. Congratulations were extended. Dreams were achieved.

Remus hung up and collapsed to the floor, sitting with his back to the kitchen cupboards and closing his eyes. He’d done it. He’d got there.

Now, what the _hell_ was he going to bake?

***

“Why don’t we have any more spoons?” Remus muttered to himself bitterly, looking frantically around his kitchen, throwing a tea towel off the counter as if it was hiding a treasure trove of utensils. “Why are there never enough spoons?”

He was panicked, attempting to perfect the icing of his signature bake cakes before his train in two hours’ time. This would be his last chance to practice. Filming started tomorrow.

Just the thought of it made his stomach flip.

Who had thought that this was a good idea? _Remus Lupin_? _On TV_? Awful. Terrible and bad. He wasn’t cut out to be watched by thirteen million people every week. And what was he even supposed to say when Minerva McGonagall, actual national treasure and baking icon, took one look at his cupcakes and said they were shite? No, this had been a monumentally ridiculous decision all round.

“Oof, those look great.” Frank, one of Remus’ (mostly absent) housemates slipped through the kitchen door, peering across the mess of bowls and open ingredients to the row of identical cakes on the cooling rack, half of which had been iced with intricate purple flowers where the others remained bare. Frank snatched one of the cakes and stuck a finger in the icing before Remus could protest and licked his finger unceremoniously. “Shit, man, did you put lavender in this icing or some shit?”

“Violet extract.” Remus answered, pushing past Frank to the sink and running a wooden spoon under the tap. He just needed to make a little more icing and then he could finish. It wouldn’t take him too long.

“Well,” Frank said, now with a mouth full of cake, “they’re fucking delicious anyways. When are you heading down south?”

Remus made his way back to the kitchen counter and dumped the remnants of his icing sugar in a bowl before starting work on his final batch of icing. “In, uh,” he paused to look at his watch, then felt a shot of anxiety in his chest, “an hour and forty-five.”

Frank nodded and made some sort of acknowledging noise through the entire cupcake that was now in his mouth. Remus was never quite sure what to make of the man. They hadn’t spoken that much because Frank was always round at his girlfriend’s house, but whenever he was around Frank tended to be a little overly familiar, as if they’d been friends for years. Remus supposed that that wasn’t a bad thing, he just wished that Frank would ask before he ate the most important baked goods of Remus’ life so far.

Frank remained quiet save for the sound of his chewing while he watched Remus ice more violets onto the tops of the remainder of the cakes. Remus wished he wouldn’t watch, he could feel his hands shaking. Once he was done, he wiped his hands on his apron and turned to Frank, who was grinning.

“You know, that’s really impressive, dude.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, “I mean, I have to do this on TV, so it has to be fairly decent, yeah.” He began piling bowls and utensils into the sink. Remus still had an hour before he had to leave for time for his train; he could just about wash up and pack in that time, as long as Frank stopped pestering him.

Then again, Remus supposed, he had to get used to people talking to him while he baked.

“Uh,” Frank started, inching slightly closer to both Remus and the iced cupcakes, “just wondering –”

“Yes, you can have the cakes.” Remus rolled his eyes, balancing a dish precariously on top of a Tupperware box in the draining board organiser. “Just leave one for me to take on the train, okay?”

Frank nodded, before taking a plate from the shelf and placing five cupcakes on it. He nodded in appreciation to Remus before leaving the room, humming as he went. Remus wished that he could be that light-hearted. He practically had an anxiety attack after every unplanned conversation he had.

The train from Cardiff to Newbury was awkward to say the least. Two and a half hours of changes later, Remus was greeted at the station by a man with long blond hair and a clipboard, who was dressed in clothes so upmarket that Remus instantly felt twenty times scruffier than he had done before, despite wearing his best jumper. He pulled at his sleeve self-consciously as he waved a greeting, giving a weak smile, his lips pressed together.

“Remus Lupin?” The man inquired. Remus nodded. The man checked his clipboard, before shaking his hair over his shoulder and looking up at Remus’ face. “All the contestants are staying in the Chequers Hotel; we have a taxi out front. You’ll be meeting in the evening for an introduction and briefing.”

Remus nodded, not really hearing what the man was saying, still too worried about his appearance. If everyone who worked for the show looked this well put together, he could only imagine what they would think of him. Remus’ hands were shaking now. The production assistant glanced down at Remus’ hands and then back up to his face, raising an eyebrow, but said nothing. He turned away and began walking towards the exit. Remus supposed he should follow, though he hadn’t been told to. Dragging his suitcase behind him, they made their way past the exit and taxi rank, seemingly heading towards the other platforms. Remus suddenly had the feeling that maybe he’d been duped, this guy might not even work for the production company.

“Uh,” he sped up a little, catching up to the blond man in a few long strides, “I thought we were heading to the hotel?”

The PA rolled his eyes before looking at Remus, “You’re not the only arrival. We have another contestant to pick up.”

They stopped at the end of platform 2 and Remus spotted the other contestant immediately. Around the same age as him but almost a foot shorter, a man stood with a backpack hanging from one shoulder, head up and looking around for the PA. His hair was dark and reached his shoulders, and he wore an oversized biker jacket and a pair of dark jeans. They were very tight. Not that Remus was looking.

The man spotted the PA and flashed a winning smile before heading towards them, almost bounding like an excited puppy. His hair was even better up close. Remus thought he might be blushing.

“Sirius Black, here to bake.” The boy mock-saluted, still smiling that brilliant smile.

The assistant did not seem impressed, his sour expression not dropping for even a second as he glanced down at his clipboard and back up at Sirius. “Okay, you’re our last collection of the afternoon. Contestants are being taken to the Chequers Hotel where you’ll be staying, and there will be an introduction and briefing this evening. My name is Lucius and I’ll be your liaison during the filming process.” Lucius flipped a piece of paper over on his clipboard, as if checking he had covered all the main points, though Remus didn’t really think he had said much at all. Lucius seemed satisfied, as he turned and began striding towards the taxi rank.

Sirius looked at Remus, continuing to smile. “I guess we’re supposed to follow?” Sirius asked. Remus shrugged. Sirius nodded and they began walking. “’You got a name, then?”

“Remus.” Remus’ mouth was dry. Why was his mouth dry? Something about this man made him unbelievably nervous.

It was probably the fact he was hot. That would make sense.

“Yeah?” Sirius seemed to be ploughing on with conversation despite Remus’ apparent disinterest and possible hostility. “And what does Remus do when he’s not baking?”

Suddenly all knowledge of his job and his hobbies fell out of Remus’ head. What _did_ he do? All he could think about was Parma Violet icing.

“I, uh,” Remus paused, trying to recall his job, “I run a book review blog.”

Sirius barked a laugh, throwing his head back. “That’s not a job!”

Remus frowned, suddenly defensive. Sirius should try reading 3 books a week, writing up a 3000 word review and maintaining social media and then let Remus know if running a blog was a real job or not. “I’d like to see you try it.”

“So, like, do you get paid through ads or what?”

Remus sighed. This was the first question everyone asked. “Ads, yeah, and sometimes publishers pay me to review certain books. I post recipes on there too sometimes, so I get paid for product placement in them too.”

“Spoken like a man who’s had to explain that to his grandparents at least twice.”

Remus relaxed a little and let out a small laugh. “More like ten times each.” He rolled his eyes, feeling much less tense and actually risking a glace in Sirius’ direction. “What about you?”

“I’m an artist. Primarily I work in oils, I do a lot of abstract stuff - it’s really cool.” Sirius said, nodding, diverting his gaze to watch Lucius, who had ducked his head through a taxi window to speak to the driver. The two men stopped a few metres behind him. There were a few seconds of silence as Remus processed this, before Sirius cut in. “Obviously I also work in Burger King.”

“Ah yes,” Remus nodded, “art.”

“I’m veggie too,” Sirius sighed, “so it’s even more depressing.”

Remus frowned, “god, how can you even work there?”

Sirius gave Remus a judging look, furrowing his brow. “I’m really not in the financial position to quit.”

“Fair.”

The conversation died down and Remus braced himself for the crippling weight of the awkwardness that was about to fall on their shoulders. Lucius, however, had other ideas. He turned back to the two men and let out a big sigh before opening the taxi door. “In.”

They were funnelled into the back of the car before Lucius slammed the door and got in the front. They sat in silence for the majority of the ride, Lucius seemingly disinterested in the two contestants, tapping away at his iPhone and laughing under his breath. Remus risked a glance at Sirius, who was gazing out of the window, looking very much to Remus like the type of beautiful boy who looks sadly out of the window in a dramatic coming-of-age movie. He seemed like he wasn’t up for more conversation, so Remus slipped his phone out of his pocket and checked his messages.

_Mary McDonald to Remus Lupin, 15:08:_

_\- Hey man, how’s the travelling been going? Have u met anyone yet?_

Remus raised an eyebrow. He certainly had.

_Remus – Going OK ye, just arrived n met one of the others. Unfortunately, very hot, very distracting. I’m def going home week 1 lmao_

Remus locked his phone quickly, shooting a sideways glance at Sirius just to make sure he didn’t see his message. His phone buzzed again.

_Mary – U may not win the bake off but you will win the BAE off_

_Mary – Get it?_

_Remus - …………….._

_Remus – I hate you._

“So” Sirius said after a long intake of breath, “What kind of stuff do you bake?” He turned his head sharply to look at Remus in a way that made him paranoid. Had he known Remus was texting about him?

Remus slipped his phone back into his pocket and pulled down his jumper sleeves so he could pick at the wool. “Uhh, I guess I grow a lot of plants and flowers and stuff, so I’m into all the botanical flavours. I’m better with sweet stuff than savoury for sure.”

“’Sounds a bit posh to me.” Sirius screwed up his face in mocking, before breaking out into a grin once more. “I’m kidding, it sounds peng. Can’t wait to try some of your stuff.”

Remus found himself blushing, and quickly looked down at his hands in his lap. “Thanks,” he laughed lightly, mostly out of awkwardness. “What about you?”

Sirius sat up a little straighter and adopted a triumphant expression. “I’m a bread boy, love me some bread.”

_Yikes_. Remus was shit at bread.

“I’m not so good on the sweet stuff – wish cake week wasn’t first or I’d be a lot more confident about how long I’d be staying. Bread week’s going to be my week, I know it. Star baker for sure.” Sirius continued, before pausing. “Unless, you know, literally anyone else is also good at bread, in which case I’m probably fucked.”

Remus laughed, a genuine laugh this time. “Well, if I’m not home by then it’ll be me being kicked out bread week so don’t worry about that. Mine never turns out perfect, I’m probably too weak to knead it well enough.” He wiggled his arms around to demonstrate his general lankiness, though his jumper was probably too oversized to illustrate his point well enough. “I’m like a twig.”

Sirius barked a laugh, before flexing his own bread muscles. “Only way to get guns like these is raising your own sourdough child.” He reached down to the floor and opened his backpack, revealing a mason jar containing a sourdough starter. “This is my son, Gerald.”

Remus found himself laughing at Sirius’ casual reveal and the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Nice to meet you, Gerald.”

“Nah, but seriously,” Sirius started, closing the flap of his backpack before sitting up once more, “I bet everyone thinks they’re shit. Imposter syndrome and all that. You’ll do fine on bread, I’m sure.” Sirius gave Remus a genuine smile, before raising an eyebrow. “But if you get star baker on bread week, I _will_ kill you.”

Remus nodded seriously. “That’s fair.”

***

Remus had heard that everyone involved in _Bake Off_ was nice, but he didn’t realise quite how _absolutely fucking delightful_ each and every person he encountered would be. It seemed like they even vetted the contestants for pleasantness, because just about all of them were as sweet as icing sugar.

Well, just about all of them.

That evening, the contestants had all gathered in the sitting room of their hotel, where the producers and liaisons gave them a talk on the process. Episodes would be filmed every weekend, and they would travel to and from the hotel every Friday afternoon, as they had today. Expenses would be paid and if there were any issues with work the competitors were to let their liaison know immediately. Episodes were filmed in order and no deviation was permitted from the recipe list contestants had sent the production company the prior week. This speech was followed by about forty-five minutes of lecturing on social media usage, non-disclosure agreements, and press handling.

Remus felt like he was going to fall over.

Sirius had abandoned him the moment they got to the hotel, having spotted one of the other contestants and _yelled_ , running over to them and pulling them into the biggest hug Remus had ever seen. To Remus’ surprise the stranger did not seem to hate this, and had reciprocated, even joining in with the yelling.

Sirius had explained to Remus that the man – tall, athletic, Indian – was his old school friend James Potter, who he had not seen for almost 7 years. A ‘wild’ coincidence. Remus had wondered briefly if knowing other competitors was actually allowed in the rules, but he supposed it didn’t matter now. He had been introduced to James very quickly, but the two men soon disappeared, leaving Remus behind in the lobby feeling all too shabby looking to be in somewhere so grand.

He had made his way up to his hotel room – all too big and fancy for his liking – and gone about unpacking his suitcase. Even though he was only going to be there for the weekend he still wanted to fold his clothes and put them away in the chest of drawers. A soft playlist had played on his phone as he opened his recipe notebook, checking over his recipes for the tenth time that day. He knew he couldn’t change anything anymore, but he was still pouring over them at any moment possible. He tried to ignore it when he noticed his hands shaking.

His hands were still shaking now, as he stood in the sitting room surrounded by a dozen other people, all more beautiful and well put together than he had imagined. He was almost ashamed at his lack of self-care. He didn’t even think he’d washed his hair today.

“You alright?”

A tall, extremely handsome man stood next to Remus, and whispered the question to him. He had a wide, winning smile and golden-brown hair that was perfectly curled. He looked like he should be a professional dancer on _Strictly_ , or some other sort of reality TV star. Remus felt his cheeks burn a little as he realised he was just staring at the man, his mouth open.

“Uh, yeah, sorry I’m fine.” Remus cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Lucius, who was now threatening them all about Twitter.

“Only it’s just – sorry – it’s just you look rather peaky.” His voice was a low gravely sort of thing that Remus could feel in the pit of his stomach. This man was _too_ sexy. It almost hurt Remus’ eyes.

Remus looked over at him, though was struggling with eye contact on account of his nerves. “I’m fine, thanks. My anxiety is just playing up a little.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’re all a tad nervous, don’t let the smiles fool you!” He just wouldn’t stop talking. Remus felt his hands start shaking. He felt as if he was going to get told off for talking, like he was back at school.

Remus closed his eyes briefly, raising his eyebrows and biting his lip. So, this guy was one of _those_ people. “I’m not _nervous_ , I have an anxiety disorder.”

Hopefully that would shut the dude up. No matter how pretty he was, Remus couldn’t abide people who tried to play down other people’s illnesses. The pretty dude looked as if he might have replied, but someone else spoke up.

“Can you two _shut up_? I’m trying to listen.”

Remus turned around to see a slight, pale man with dark greasy hair, scribbling notes down in a leather-bound journal. He was looking at Remus and the pretty boy with an incensed look in his eye. Remus wondered if this dude had ever learned to chill.

“What is there to listen _to_?” Pretty Boy said with a lop-sided grin. “Don’t post about it on your Instagram and don’t publish any recipes. There, done.” He looked over to Remus and rolled his eyes in the kind of way that would make the greasy haired man think the two were in league. Remus gave the man behind them a weak, apologetic smile to try to convince them he was not, in fact, in any way ‘with’ this asshole.

The greasy man did not return the smile, instead continuing his glowering.

Lucius seemed to have picked up on their chatting and paused his lecture. He sighed loudly and deliberately, brushing his hair over his shoulder and fixing them with a sharp look, before calling out over the group. “Can you make sure you’re listening please?”

Remus’ stomach churned. He hated being told off.

Pretty Boy rolled his eyes but went back to a reluctant silence, brushing his hair out of his face with a perfectly manicured hand. Remus decided that he was absolutely never going to speak to this prick again.

Half an hour of briefings and introductions and far too many instructions later, Remus found himself being instructed to ‘mingle’. The very thought sent ice down his spine. One thing was certain, he needed to get away from _Strictly Come Dancing_ bloke before people started to think they were friends.

He made his way over to the buffet table, which had been set up for the contestants to have a free dinner and make friends. The show was, apparently, better when everyone got on, according to the producer. Remus could see what they meant – _Bake Off_ always seemed so warm and friendly, practically sugar coated. As much as he hated meeting new people and being forced into social situations, Remus supposed he had to try.

He was just working up the courage to talk to a kind looking middle-aged woman wearing a floral dress when someone tapped him on the elbow. He almost dropped the glass of prosecco he was nursing; the tap having pulled him out of his internal pep-talk. He hadn’t realised that he was so tense.

“Hey, uh, Remus wasn’t it?” Sirius’ friend from earlier smiled at Remus earnestly. He was holding a plate of pasta which was piled so high it was hazardous. His hair was jet black and stuck up at funny angles, and his eyes a deep hazel brown. He was incredibly handsome, now Remus came to look at him. He vaguely wondered as to whether this was all some kind of prank to put Remus on telly with only people that would make him look exceptionally ugly by comparison. And to think, just this morning he had thought he looked alright.

He suddenly remembered that the boy had asked him a question, and it would probably look _less_ weird if he answered it.

“Uh, yeah that’s me.” Remus was very conscious that everyone else he had met so far had had English accents. “You’re John, right?”

“James.” The boy corrected, waving a hand dismissively before reaching across Remus to pick up a fork. Remus cringed. Embarrassing himself already.

“So.” James started abruptly, standing up a little straighter. “Me and Sirius were wondering if you’d like to eat with us?” He framed it as a question, but Remus could see that it was more of a command. He shrugged.

“Sure, just let me get some food first.” He did not make eye contact with James, but gave him a flat-mouthed smile to show his appreciation. James seemed to ignore his awkwardness – either that or he just didn’t notice it – and his face broke out into a warm smile.

“Excellent! We’re just over there.” He indicated to a table where Sirius sat lazily, his Doc Marten clad feet propped on the seat across from him under the table. He saw Remus looking and gave him a friendly wave, though his mouth appeared too full of pastry to smile. “We have extra samosas,” James explained quickly, a little embarrassment appearing on his face, “mum sent me with them to share out. She’s always doing that.”

Remus laughed nervously. James seemed to take this as an indication to leave.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. See you in a bit!” His face split back into that smile again, but he paused before he left. “Do you want me to take your drink back to the table? Just so your hands aren’t full.”

“Your hands are full though?” Remus quizzed the boy. He didn’t seem to have noticed until Remus had said that.

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed, tapping himself on the forehead with his fork. “Mum always said I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on properly.”

_We get it_ , Remus thought, _you’ve got a good relationship with your family_.

Remus, however, smiled. “Yeah, I’m the same. Just know I’m gonna forget how to make a sponge cake in the technical tomorrow.”

James laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I’ll probably forget to show up or something.” He shot another cautious look back at Sirius and the now almost empty Tupperware at their table. “I’ll see you in a minute, I wanna claim some of those before Pads eats them all.”

And suddenly Remus was alone. Just the way he liked it.

He blew a long breath out of his mouth, letting out the post-social-encounter-anxiety before it got a strong grip on him. After all, he had to go back and talk to them again in a minute. He trained his eyes on the buffet in front of him and found himself feeling far too sick to eat anything. Deciding it was better to eat than to not, he placed a couple of sausage rolls and a bread roll on a plate and poured himself a bowl of soup, which he balanced precariously at the side of the savoury offerings. He headed over to the two men carefully, trying his best not to spill either his prosecco or his soup all over the floor – or worse, any of the other contestants.

“Here he is!” Sirius raised his arms, smiling his lop-sided smile, all white teeth and sparkle. Remus saw him take his boots down off the seat opposite him. Remus gave him a queasy smile back.

“Hiya.” He sat down opposite Sirius, the soup spilling over the edge of his bowl and dripping down the side as he put the plate down.

“Perhaps you can settle a little wager we’ve had.” James started. He was a bit of a toff, but Remus had expected most of the people here would be pretty posh. Remus’ stomach flipped – so they were already gossiping about him?

“Yeah, we’re terrible with accents.” Sirius leant forward and propped his chin up on his fist, elbow on the table. “Prongs here reckons you’re from Ireland.”

Remus felt the knot in his stomach unravel a little. At least it was only about his voice. “I’m Welsh.”

“See!” Sirius slapped his hand down on the table. “Told you, I can spot a Welsh accent a mile away.”

“It’s all those Michael Sheen audiobooks you listen to.” James said knowingly. “I see you posting about them on Goodreads.”

Their banter continued, smooth and easy. Apparently, James and Sirius had been inseparable at the incredibly expensive boarding school their parents had sent them to, and had shared a dorm room for 7 years. Since then, they had lived on opposite sides of London – Sirius in a shared, run down house in South London, and James in an expensive studio apartment in the north. They had kept up with each other's exploits on social media, James had explained, but he had been too busy learning the tricks of the trade at his family’s haircare company so he hadn’t been able to visit Sirius at art school, or at Burger King. James hadn’t even known that Sirius was into baking.

“How about you, Remus, how long have you been baking?” Sirius had asked, after the two of them had recounted their paralleled journeys through baking over the last 5 years.

Remus broke the sausage roll in his hand in half before dunking it in his tomato soup. He let it soak a little as he spoke. “About 4 years now – got into it when I moved to Cardiff. The woman who owns the house I live in has a big garden. She lets me use the plants for baking. I started out making bread but I’m not great at it – much better at cake and biscuits.” He took a bit out of the soggy sausage roll. “’tasty ‘tuff, you kno’?” He said with his mouth full.

“Can’t believe you just disrespected bread like that, in my own home.” Sirius held a hand over his heart and feigned scandal.

James tutted. “You don’t live here.”

“I do this weekend.” His smile was brilliant. Remus looked back down at his soup.

“Anyway,” James began, rocking back on his chair legs, “clearly you’re good enough, Remus - you got here.”

Sirius had just filled his mouth with cake, but continued talking regardless. “Yeah, with us. Prongs is a right master baker.” He stifled a laugh at his own joke. James groaned at the obvious pun, as did Remus.

“So where did these nicknames come from?” Remus had been trying to ignore it, but his curiosity got the better of him eventually. He had to ask. _Padfoot_? _Prongs_? They sounded ridiculous.

James shrugged. “Private school, innit? Everyone gets one.” James ruffled his already messy hair as he caught sight of another of the bakers walking past, allowing his eyes to wander, but only for a moment. He was back to the table in an instant. “Think mine was something about forks.”

“You got a fork stuck in your hair in year eight.” Sirius said plainly. “You were trying to comb it like the Little Mermaid but it’s such a bird’s nest you had to get the fork cut out by matron.”

Remus snorted, though more at the fact that they had called their school nurse ‘matron’ than anything else. Remus noticed that as soon as Sirius had been back around James his accent had come back two-fold. Gone were the rough edges, replaced with a practically Etonian lilt. Remus tried to swallow his prejudice. From their discussion in the car, it seemed like Remus was better off these days than the artist, despite their backgrounds.

“Oi, I’m trying to leave myself a little dignity. Perhaps Remus here would like to hear the origins of ‘Padfoot’?” James raised an eyebrow mockingly. Sirius’ cheeks went a little pink, but he attempted to maintain an air of dignity.

“Dunno what you’re talking about, I just like those socks with the sticky bits on the bottom.” He crossed his arms across his chest and stuck his nose in the air.

James laughed, throwing his head back so he wobbled dangerously on his swinging chair. “Yeah, definitely had nothing to do with you getting drunk in the girls’ dorms and coming back to our room with pantyliners stuck all over your boots, did it?”

The two men laughed loudly, James picking up his prosecco and having another sip. At that moment, he overbalanced, falling sharply into another contestant who was walking by. Her plate clattered to the ground, landing upside down.

“For fuck’s sake, watch what you’re doing! That was the last slice of lemon drizzle!” She tutted loudly, before offering him a hand up. She was pretty, with long, straight red hair styled like a model from the 60s, with a thick split fringe. James sputtered a little over his apology, his embarrassment immense and clumsy, and all too obvious.

“God, shit, I am _so_ sorry!” He took her hand tentatively and pulled himself up. He did not let go nearly quick enough. As soon as he dropped her hand, his own was at the back of his head, mussing up his hair even more than it already was. Remus supposed it must be a nervous tick.

The woman looked around their age, maybe a little younger. She set about clearing up the cake that had splattered on the carpet, but was soon shooed away by a member of staff. Remus thought it really ought to have been James who was clearing up, seeing as it was his fault, but the man now seemed to just be standing, staring at the newcomer in absolute awe.

Sirius elbowed James sharply.

“Prongs, you’re being creepy.” He hissed. Remus had to agree.

This seemed to shake James out of whatever fantasy land he had apparently fallen into. He blinked, before holding his hand out to the woman, who was now standing awkwardly in front of their table as if waiting to be dismissed.

“I’m James.”

Remus was almost impressed that he had remembered.

The woman took his hand and shook it, though looked a little confused as she did. When she spoke, she had a thick Yorkshire accent. “Lily.” She leant a little to the side and waved to Sirius and Remus. “Good to meet all of you.”

“Sirius,” the boy said, waving back, “and this is Remus.” He pointed to Remus with a thumb, as if Remus was incapable of speech.

“I’m sure he could have introduced himself.” Lily raised her eyebrows, “but it’s good to meet you, all the same.” She smoothed the front of her vintage dress with her hands, rocking backwards and forwards on her heels for a moment. “I should,” she started, dragging out the second word as she seemed to search for an excuse to get away from James, who was still staring. “I should probably get back to my table.”

She turned away and walked uncertainly back to a table of three other women who were all chatting lazily. Remus thought he might have preferred to go with her.

James picked up his fallen chair, seeming to suddenly remember that he was actually a person who was alive and had to function in society again, and collapsed down onto it, his cheeks forming a big smile.

“I think I might be in love.” He breathed. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Oh god, not this again.”

James was ignoring him, speaking as almost a whisper. “She’s stunning.”

Remus frowned. “You’ve literally only just met her.” He would never understand heterosexuals.

James waved a hand dismissively. “As if _that_ matters.”

***

Remus didn’t sleep that night. He thought maybe his head was buzzing from all the sugar he had eaten during the buffet – there had been so many cakes to try. Really, though, he knew it was just the sheer terror of being filmed for the TV the next morning.

Eventually he had sighed and rolled out of the plush, king sized bed he had been given. There was no harm in going over his recipes a couple more times. He thought he might have been able to make the violet cupcakes by memory now, but it was always worth checking.

His recipe notebook was old, battered and covered in dried spots of milk, egg, cake mix and other substances. Anyone else would probably have looked at it and thought it disgusting, but to Remus it was the most important thing in his world. He flicked through the dog-eared pages until he landed on the cupcakes and lazily dragged a finger down the ingredients list. Flour, eggs, sugar, milk, fresh violets and violet extract, amongst a few other secret ingredients. He tapped the top of his old suitcase absentmindedly with his free hand. His chest felt very tight.

The mason jar of fresh violets he had packed into his suitcase, harvested from his landlord’s garden, had been taken off him to be transported to the set. Remus wondered whether they might be screening them for drugs or something, as no one was allowed to take their specialist ingredients up to their rooms. They hadn’t been the best – not nearly as nice as the ones he had picked last night for the cupcakes he had made that morning. Remus furrowed his brow, trying not to panic as the regret of letting Frank eat the best violets started to creep up his spine.

_It doesn’t matter_ , he told himself, _the judges don’t even know about those cupcakes._

Remus took a deep, shaky breath before turning over the page. It was a list of different types of sponges and a basic outline of how to make them all. Remus had decided to treat the _Bake Off_ like an exam, and had been revising hard all of the different methods for the things they would be expected to know. He closed the book and began muttering under his breath, reciting the names of the types of cake from memory, and the ratios of ingredients he needed to make them.

Once he had got to the end of his list, he opened up the page again, holding it down against the mahogany vanity. He let out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding – top marks. As long as all this knowledge didn’t drop out of his ears as soon as the Prewett twins said “ready, set, bake” he would be fine. He knew that wasn’t a guarantee, but he tried not to think about the alternative.

He closed the notebook, sighing deeply. He still felt as if his lungs were caught in a vice, unable to breathe deep enough, unable to think straight. His hands were shaking, so he clasped them together, then went to crack his knuckles. He shook his hands out before flexing his fingers a few times, listening to the joints pop in the dark silence of his room. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

He opened the notebook again and looked at the sponge recipes once more, for good measure.

The night continued on in the same fashion – Remus pacing about between the bathroom and the desk, before going back and obsessing over the method for génoise sponge – until he could barely stand anymore. The hotel alarm clock read 05:24 the last time he had looked at it, as he fell down against the pillows, feeling the exhaustion finally overtake the anxiety in his brain. He had to be up in an hour and a half.

He dreamed of violets.

***

“God, you haven’t half got lovely cheekbones!”

Remus could hear one of the makeup artists gushing over Sirius at the other end of the trailer. Sirius had requested highlighting, and she had been extremely happy to oblige, praising his eyeliner as she had got her palettes out.

Sirius had waved a dismissive hand, but a pink hue had appeared in his pale cheeks. “Ah, I only do it for special occasions.”

The truth was that Sirius looked amazing. Remus had spent fifteen minutes after he had pulled himself out of bed, feeling like a great big slug that had just been doused in salt, rifling through the outfits he had packed. He had had to pack multiple, as he had known that he would change his mind at the last minute after he saw all the other contestants looking like models. He had settled on some light-washed denim overalls and a vintage Nordic jumper that was just baggy enough, with his beat-up old trainers. He had thought he looked quite nice, too, until he had walked down to breakfast to see Sirius.

Sirius was practically glowing, what with all the highlighter. His outfit was simple but stylish, and Remus could tell he knew he looked good from the wink he had shot him as Remus had walked into the makeup trailer. Remus had tried very hard not to blush, and looked down at his tattered shoes. He hadn’t even thought about his own face until the makeup artist tutted, reaching for a drawer of concealers and attempting to colour match him.

“There’s always one.” The artist said as he opened a tube and brushed a little liquid onto the back of Remus’ hand. He seemed unsatisfied and went back to his drawer. “Too anxious to sleep, pet?”

Remus felt his stomach do a flip. Staring at himself in the mirror, he noticed deep purple circles under his eyes. They were blindingly obvious next to his pale complexion. He gave a nervous chuckle as the makeup artist tried another concealer on his hand, this time satisfied.

“Yeah, something like that.” He gave a weak smile as the man placed a strong hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll be fine, pet. It’s nowhere near as bad as you’ve imagined.”

That was easy for him to say, Remus thought, he didn’t have to bake anything. Not in the food sense anyway.

The makeup artist started caking concealer under Remus’ eyes while he chatted about various mundane topics. The weather, what Remus was baking, didn’t he think that Davina should have won Drag Race UK? That sort of thing. Remus had smiled and ‘hmm’-ed along as much as he could without moving his face too much. He could see Sirius looking over in the mirror, and their eyes kept catching and sticking.

Remus secretly hoped that neither of them would go home this week.

***

“Cut - that’s a wrap on day one everyone! Well done.” The director clapped, pulling her headphones off so that they hung around her neck. The crew joined in with the applause and Remus supposed he should too. The other contestants joined suit.

The makeup guy had been right - it hadn’t been nearly as bad as Remus had managed to convince himself it would go. His cupcakes hadn’t been perfectly uniform but Dumbledore had loved the delicate flavours - “not too sweet, I could eat this whole tray!” - and even McGonagall had given him a rare smile. Remus wondered if one day she might honour him with one of her infamous handshakes. He shook his head, reprimanding himself for even imagining it. No, he told himself, hope for the worst, because then whatever happens will seem wonderful.

The technical had been much tougher. They had had to make Dumbledore’s angel slices recipe with minimal instructions. Remus had never made an angel cake before and just hearing Gideon Prewett say the words had turned his stomach to ice. Still, he had muddled through it, and he had certainly been glad for his late night génoise sponge revision. He was useless at meringue buttercream, and it hadn’t been stiff enough, but the slices had been decent enough to earn him a respectable fourth place.

He seemed to be in a stable enough position for tomorrow. He should get through this weekend, as long as his showstopper occasion cake wasn’t a complete disaster.

He chanced a glance at the other bakers. The smarmy prick he’d met last night during the briefing – Gilderoy Lockhart – had clearly been struggling to keep up with the others. His cupcakes had been underbaked and McGonagall had brutally stuck her finger in the sponge, declaring it raw. He had smiled and brushed it off, explaining to the cameras that he was clearly having on off-day. He certainly was, because he had come last in the technical, his angel slices collapsing under their own weight and lack of integrity. Unless he did something exceptional tomorrow, there was no way he was getting through to biscuit week.

His new friends had both done excellently. James had made ginger cupcakes with lemon curd in the centre. While the tent was being cleared up between challenges, Remus had tried one. It had been one of the single most delicious things he had ever eaten. James had been bashful about it though, shrugging off any praise the other bakers gave him. Remus could tell that he was chuffed, though; James’ jaw had almost touched the floor when McGonagall had offered her hand for him to shake. That afternoon he had also breezed through the technical.

“Always top of the class.” Sirius approached him and reached up to ruffle James’ hair at his work station, once the cameras were off and people began to clear up. James shifted his weight between his feet, before turning back to his station and grabbing a cloth, wiping up the icing sugar he had spilled earlier.

“Ah, it’s just a fluke. I’ll come last in the technical next week, I expect.”

Sirius smirked, poking the taller boy in the ribs before departing back to his own bench. They didn’t _need_ to clear up their own stuff, but Remus – and, clearly, the others too – thought it would be impolite not to. Remus feigned drying up his mixing bowl, looking off toward the back of the tent towards Sirius, who had now discarded his leather jacket in order to do his own washing up. It was awfully inconvenient, Remus thought, to have fallen in love so ridiculously and so fast.

Sirius had clearly been talking himself down in the taxi to their hotel yesterday. He could absolutely make cakes. Either he had been making an effort to modest, or Sirius’ bread making ability was somehow beyond this earthly realm. Dumbledore had looked at him with those twinkling eyes and told him his sponge was delightfully moist, and Sirius had made a cheeky joke that almost certainly would _not_ be broadcast on prime-time telly. Remus didn’t think that any of the three of them would be going home anytime soon.

“That was gruelling, eh?” James jogged up to him as Remus made his way back up to the hotel. He needed a nap after being on his feet all day. He was thankful that they would only be filming on weekends, he would have the rest of the week to recover.

Remus shrugged, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. They’d let him go back after filming a few confessionals – he had mainly just tripped over his own tongue trying to explain how terrifying it was to be judged by McGonagall and Dumbledore. He didn’t expect that any of it would be useable. “Wasn’t nearly as awful as I had imagined.” Remus confessed. James looked a little taken-aback.

“Imagined there would be a fight to the death at the end?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Something like that.” Remus chuckled, feeling at ease next to James. He had a calming presence, like he knew everything was going to work out for him. It was infectious.

“Well, don’t let your guard down too soon – there's still 9 weeks left.” James shot him a wink and made a gesture that looked like he was squaring up to box an imaginary baker walking in front of him. He laughed lightly. “What ‘you making for tomorrow?” He took his clubmaster glasses off and wiped the lenses on the fabric of his white t-shirt before replacing them on his nose, looking over inquisitively at Remus.

“Birthday cake.” Remus raised his shoulders up to his ears, hands still deep in his pockets. “Gotta show off my penchant for chocolate somehow.”

“Ooh,” James drew out the ‘oo’ sound for a long time, raising his eyebrows and ginning, “like the sound of that – you better save me a slice. I’ve always been crap at chocolate work – I'm making a wedding cake.”

Remus quirked an eyebrow as he held open the hotel door for James. “Ambitious.”

James stepped through the door and turned around, walking backwards so he could still look at Remus. He held out his arms in front of him, palms and wrists to the sky. “What can I say,” he grinned, “I’m a romantic.”

He kept on walking backwards for a few moments, and suddenly there was a kerfuffle and he was on the floor again, swearing loudly.

“Shit - I’m so sorry!”

A few patrons looked down and tutted at his language, and his audacity to clutter up the reception with his presence on the floor. No one went to help him – or his unsuspecting victim – back to his feet, so Remus forced himself to stop laughing and instead go over to extend a hand to James. He smiled gratefully, if not with a hint of embarrassment. He turned to help up the woman he had walked into. She did not take his extended hand, but instead pulled herself up, using the intricately carved reception desk as a crutch.

“Ugh,” she said as she saw it was James, “you again.”

Lily rolled her eyes as James smiled at her sheepishly. Remus thought for a second he might keep it together, but realised that this was impossible as he watched James reach up to ruffle his hair again. Remus supposed that James’ chances of victory were reliant entirely on Lily’s workbench being out of his eyeline. If she had been in front of the boy, Remus could only imagine how James’ cakes would have turned out.

“You really should watch where you’re going, you know?” She huffed, before turning around and leaving without another word.

Remus watched her go, and thought to himself that storming out really would have had more of an effect if she hadn’t had to wait a full ten seconds for the lift.


	2. Biscuits

Remus had messed up his chocolate mirror glaze spectacularly during the showstopper challenge, but his strong performance the day before – coupled with Gilderoy Lockhart’s abysmal attempt at Christmas cake – kept him in the competition. 

James had been crowned Star Baker for that week’s episode, and he was clearly chuffed. He had called his mum immediately afterwards, gushing down the phone to her about how much the judges had loved his champagne and strawberry wedding cake. Obviously, this phone call had to be made on camera.

Remus was finding the constant confessionals to be the most stressful part of the entire experience. Once he was in the zone and started baking, it was almost like he was back in his shared house in Cardiff. The hosts were just his mates on video chat and he would throw witty quips their way, giving as good as he got. The judges were his housemates, giving him their unsolicited opinions on experimental bakes he hadn’t told them they could eat. He told himself this was the situation they were in, because if he thought about the millions of people who would be watching it on telly later, he would have had a complete wheezing breakdown right there in the tent.

“How did you feel when McGonagall said she was hoping your cake would turn out better?” The producer prompted Remus, as he stood wide-eyed, only a meter or so away from a huge television camera. He was holding an umbrella, as the weather had decided to be a lot less kind than it had been the day before.

“When McGonagall said she hoped my cake would be better...” He started by repeating their question, as he was always told to do. That way they could slice up the clips and put them in the episode as they saw fit. “Truth be told, I just remember thinking ‘God, same!’” He shrugged his shoulders, holding them up to his seconds before letting them fall heavily. “Still, could have been worse. Just need to make sure my biscuits are good next week.”

He rubbed his jaw with shaky fingers as he walked away from the camera crew, who were now filming a young woman called Dorcas talking about dropping her cupcakes out of the oven. She had managed to recover just enough of them to have a dozen to serve up. Remus thought he might start making extras just in case, too; it was clearly a good idea.

He heard footsteps falling into pace just behind him and hung back for a few moments, letting them catch up to him. Remus had long legs and had to consciously stop himself from striding off ahead of most people. It was Lily, the ginger woman that James kept falling over himself around. She was wearing another vintage outfit, an orange and white mod-style mini dress, with a matching white headband in her hair. Remus admired her commitment to the aesthetic.

“God, that was fucking awful.” Remus was almost shocked to hear the language come out of her mouth. She shook her head, looking down at her feet, her hair falling down in front of her face so that Remus couldn’t see her expression. She had overbaked the bonfire-night ginger cake she had made and it had been tough and dry. It had looked and tasted amazing, at least, and she  _ had _ come third in the technical the day before so she needn't have been too worried. 

“It wasn’t so bad.” Remus shot her a sympathetic look, raising his eyebrows and giving her a flat sort-of smile. She looked up to his face gratefully. “Everyone knew Lockhart was gonna go home anyway.”

Lily made a noise of agreement. “Yeah, it was fairly obvious.” She brightened a little. “Hey, d’you know what I heard?” She leaned a little closer to him as they approached the doors of the hotel. “I heard he lied on his application – submitted other people’s recipes as his own.” She said all of this quietly, her thick accent coming out stronger as she got excited. Remus looked aghast.

“What? No way!” He shook his head – that would never have got past the producers and researchers, surely?

Lily raised an eyebrow as she pulled open the hotel door, gesturing for Remus to step through. “Apparently so. Would make sense though, wouldn’t it? He was shit.” She laughed and Remus was inclined to agree. Gilderoy had made a massive fool of himself. It felt a little cruel to laugh, but he had come across as a massive twat on the single occasion that Remus had had the pleasure of speaking to him.

They made their way through to the sitting room where several of the other bakers were milling around, chatting animatedly about the weekend’s events. Most of them would be getting trains that afternoon – one boy already had his suitcase resting by his chair and Lily made a beeline for him immediately. Remus recognised that he was the contestant on the bench behind hers.

“Alright?” She greeted him, sitting down in the armchair opposite him. 

The man inclined his head. He had a nervous aura around him, his blue eyes watery and lined with panic. His blond hair flopped over his eyes as he looked up to her from where he had previously been looking down at his hands twisting in his lap.

“Oh hi, Lily.” He gave her a weak smile. Remus recognised him now as Peter Pettigrew.

“This is my mate Remus.” Lily nodded her head towards where Remus stood. “Remus, this is Pete.” 

Remus held out his hand for the other boy to shake, which he did. Peter’s palm was cold and clammy, though Remus expected his was very much the same.

“Good to meet you.” Peter was very well spoken, his accent very similar to James’s. “Sorry I can’t talk for long; my Uber should be here in 3 minutes.” His leg was bouncing up and down by his suitcase and he kept checking his phone.

Lily seemed undeterred by his obvious attempt to brush them off. “How do you think it went this week?” She prodded his knee with a sharp, red fingernail. Pete jumped a little in his seat.

“Ah, I guess it was okay?” He seemed unsure, and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “Cake isn’t my strong suit, if I’m honest. I’m holding out for patisserie week.”

Remus raised an eyebrow.  _ That  _ was an ambitious claim. “Patisserie is the semi-final, right?” He asked, trying to remember the itinerary that had been emailed to him a few weeks prior. Peter had been alright in the episode they had just filmed, but if he was consistent with his performance Remus couldn’t imagine him getting that far into the competition. Still, he decided to put on a kind face. 

Especially seeing that there was a chance Peter was the best baker out of all of them, and he could have just had an off day.

“Yeah, I’m hoping I can hang on ‘til then at least!” Peter gave a shaky smile. “They really didn’t like my cupcakes – I think I put too much cardamom in them.” 

Lily nodded. “Yeah, I tried one, they were a bit weird, if I’m honest. The cream was well tasty though.”

Peter gave a short laugh. “That apricot cream is probably what saved me.” He placed his hands on his thighs and pushed himself up, grabbing a hold of the handle of his suitcase. “Uber’s here.” He indicated to the door, knocking his case back with his trainer so that he could drag it behind him. 

“See you next week, mate.” Lily smiled warmly at him as he waved a goodbye to her and Remus. Once he had left the two of them alone, Remus fell into Peter’s empty seat, thankful for the chance to sit down having been on his feet for five hours beforehand. His hips were aching. He  _ really  _ needed a nap.

“’Suppose you’ll be leaving soon too?” Remus asked lazily, closing his eyes and leaning back against the plush upholstery. The seat was an uncomfortable shape but the fabric was soft, and he  _ was _ known for being able to fall asleep anywhere.

Remus heard Lily’s jewellery jingling as she rearranged herself in the armchair across from him, the charms on her gold bracelet tinkling in the quiet of the sitting room. She huffed loudly. “Yeah, gotta get all the way back up to Cokeworth. Not looking forward to it, if I’m honest.”

Remus opened an eye. Lily had her feet up in the seat and had slipped off her shoes so that they lay under the chair. She was looking down at her hands, picking the polish off of her nails.

“Why not?”

Lily looked up at him quickly and opened her mouth. Then closed it again. He suspected that he hadn’t been supposed to ask.

“Oh,” she waved a hand, “I’m just not looking forward to a five-hour train journey – won't get back to my parents’ house until eleven at the earliest. Gotta work tomorrow too, early shift at the pharmacy.”

It was a very convincing lie, Remus had to give her that.

Lily sighed, and then continued. “That and my sister is proper mardy about me getting on this show.”

Remus nodded. “Ah.”

“Yeah, we used to bake together but they’re all my recipes. I told her you can’t enter as a team but she’s acting like it’s some kind of betrayal.” Lily rolled her eyes. “Anyway, it’s fine, I’m sure she’ll get over it.”

“I’m sorry, though.” Remus rubbed his eyes before stretching his arms out in front of him. His elbows clicked loudly. “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have any siblings?”

“Nah, just me.” Remus shrugged.

Lily gave him a sad smile. “Must have been lonely.”

Remus thought for a moment. Had it been? He hadn’t really considered it before. The village he had grown up in was small and quiet, but that hadn’t bothered him too much. Remus had always kept himself to himself. It just meant that he had more time for reading.

“I suppose it might have been if I had known any different.” He gave Lily a smile but her eyes had wandered off elsewhere. There was a commotion by the door and she was watching it out of the corner of her eye, trying her best to not look interested.

It was James and Sirius, Remus discovered. They had just burst in to the sitting room, with Severus Snape (a respectable fourth place in the technical, but with a slightly overbaked set of red velvet cupcakes) chasing in after them.

“Oh! Hi Lily.” James’ hand was in his hair almost immediately as he halted so quickly that Sirius ran directly into him. The shorter man said nothing, but looked extremely annoyed. Sirius rolled his eyes in an exaggerated display of exasperation, catching Remus’ eye purposefully. Remus looked away quickly.

Lily did not turn to look at James immediately, but flicked her eyes back to Remus and held his eye contact for a few moments, quirking an eyebrow. As if she knew it was torture to the boy, she turned her head as slowly as she could towards James, a bored look on her beautiful face. James looked like he was about to collapse.

“Hey, Jimmy.” She knew exactly what she was doing.

Snape grabbed a hold of James by the shoulders before he even had a chance to respond to Lily and pulled him around to face him, rage in his dark eyes.

“Give. It. Back.” He snarled. He was holding onto James by his t-shirt, pulling the taller man down to his level. 

James held up his hands. “I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.” It seemed convincing to Remus, but then he had never been great at noticing when people were lying. Snape was not as easily persuaded.

“I heard you and Black laughing in the corridor – I know you took it.” 

At this, Sirius snapped out of whatever silent conversation he had been trying to have with Remus, who had been trying to ignore him, not wanting Snape to think that he was in on whatever was clearly going on. Sirius rounded on Snape, drawing himself to his full height – still a good few inches shorter than the other men.

“Hey - don’t drag me into whatever you two have got going on!” He, too, seemed convincing to Remus.

Snape rolled his eyes. “At least take some ownership of your actions. My recipe book is gone, and you two were skulking in the hallway when I realised. I know you’ve got it.”

James’ brow was furrowed. He didn’t seem to have any idea what was going on. “And how, pray tell, would we have gotten into your hotel room when the door was locked?”

Snape seemed to be taken-aback by that, and blinked a few times, him mouth hanging open. After a few moments, his mouth became a thin, determined line. “I know it was you, Potter.”

“Have you tried looking under your pillow? ‘S where I keep mine.” Sirius shrugged, acting as if this were some casual dorm room conversation as opposed to a full-on confrontation in a public space. 

Snape ignored him, though his snarl became even more pronounced. “I leave in an hour. If my notebook is returned to me before my taxi arrives, I will let this pass. If not -” he fixed Sirius with a dark look, before dragging his eyes slowly back over to James - “let’s just say you’ll be sorry.”

Snape’s hands left James’ shirt and he left the room swiftly. James and Sirius held each other’s gaze for a few moments, seemingly having a full wordless conversation. Remus had no idea what was going on. He wondered who was going to break the silence first, and was surprised to find that it was Lily.

“This better be a joke – you better not have nicked his recipes.” Her voice was low and dark. James looked at her, aghast.

“I would never! He probably just lost it in his hotel room, the greasy git.” He crossed his arms across his chest. 

“Okay, then what were you doing in the hallway?” Lily raised an eyebrow.

James scowled. “Oh, come off it, Evans. Are we not allowed to have a fucking chat?” All affection and admiration had gone from his voice completely. Remus found it almost shocking. “I really don’t take kindly to being accused of things I haven’t done.”

Lily did not seem satisfied, but stood up and regarded both James and Sirius with a discerning eye. “I swear, Potter, if I find out you did this...” She shook her head, her dark red hair falling like a mane around her face. “I’ll tell the producers.”

James held his hands up suddenly. “Woah - I  _ told  _ you, I have no idea what he’s on about.”

Sirius finally spoke. “Yeah, and it wasn’t me either, before you come after me – you can search my room and everything.”

“Trust me,” James said, “I’ve known Pads a long time, he would never do something like this unprovoked. We’ve never even spoken to that Snape bloke before.”

Lily seemed unconvinced but did not reply, she simply stood up a little straighter and stuck her nose in the air, before turning back to Remus.

“I have to go and get my bags – taxi will be here in five. I’ll see you next week.” She gave him a warm smile that seemed an intense contrast from what had just gone down. Remus didn’t know what to say, so just gave her a weak wave from his seat. Lily left the room without another word, but with yet another stern look at the two boys stood by the door. 

As soon as Lily was out of sight James deflated, flopping forwards onto one of the plush sofas as if someone had let all of the air out of him. “God, she must think I’m an idiot.”

“Nah,” Sirius stepped forward and placed a hand on James’ back, patting him gently, “she’ll realise it wasn’t us.”

James threw his hands up in the air. “But what if she doesn’t? I don’t get why that arsehole thinks it was us anyway, I’ve never even looked at him twice. Why would  _ I _ nick  _ his _ recipes? He wasn’t even  _ close _ to star baker today – it's not as if he’s a threat.”

Remus looked at Sirius carefully. “So, you guys really didn’t do it?”

“No!” James exploded, his face snapping up so that his eyes bore into Remus’. “How many times! I don’t even know the bloke!”

“Alright, mate, I was just asking.” Remus held his hands up in surrender, before dropping them back down to the arms of his chair and pushing himself up to stand. His hips protested, and the joints cracked loudly, but he ignored it. He needed to go and have a lie down. “I’m gonna have a nap – are either of you staying ‘til tomorrow?”

James shook his head morosely, but Sirius gave a bright smile and a nod. “Yeah, getting the train back in the morning – I don’t work Mondays. I expected more people to be staying, to be honest.”

“Is it just us?” Remus asked, feeling a little sick about the idea. Sirius shook his head.

“Nah, McKinnon and Meadowes are staying too - and Moody, I think?” He squinted as he tried to remember. “We were gonna get some dinner and have a drink together this evening if you wanted to come along with us?”

Remus blinked. That sure was a lot of people he had never spoken to before. He  _ really _ wanted to say no, just spend the evening alone in his room, but the words of the producers were back in his ears.  _ The show is a lot better when you all make friends _ . 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” It sounded unconvincing, and Remus definitely needed to work on making his facial expressions match the words that were coming out of his mouth, but he had done it – he had accepted an invite. Quite the achievement. 

“Cool,” Sirius gave him a lop-sided smile, “I’ll see you in the hotel restaurant at half seven.” He circled back on James very quickly. “Say, Prongs, what do you reckon Snape’ll do when no one returns his notebook?”

James raised his eyebrows quickly, as if he hadn’t thought about this. He mulled it over for a second, chewing on his bottom lip. “I suppose he’ll try and get revenge.”

Sirius grinned. “I know it wasn’t us and everything, but I would be lying if I said that didn’t sound fun.”

***

Remus changed out of his baking clothes and into another of his ‘nice’ outfits for dinner – a colourful patterned button down and a pair of corduroy trousers, with the same pair of trainers. He stood in front of the mirror for a moment, looking forlornly at his own face. He looked tired, even after his nap, and there were deep purple circles hanging under his eyes now that he had washed the makeup off. He sighed – it's not like it could get any better – and smoothed down the fabric of his shirt. 

“It’s fine,” he told himself, muttering under his breath, “they’re just people. They’re not going to eat you.”

He picked up his wallet and slipped it into his pocket, as well as his room key, and ruffled his hair one last time so that his curls fell in his eyes in a way that he hoped would distract from just how devastatingly worn out he looked. It didn’t really work. He headed downstairs, his heart beating heavily in his chest.

God, he hated this.

“Hey, Remus!” Sirius was stood in the restaurant doorway, wearing his leather jacket over a blue button up. He was pushing the restaurant dress code to its limits and he knew it, but damn, he looked good. He waved Remus over with a wide smile. “We’re the first ones here.”

Of course.

Remus smiled at him. He had to admit he felt a lot more comfortable around Sirius than he would if any new people were around. Sirius took control of the conversation, and for that Remus was very grateful.

“Did you get to taste Prongs’s cake today? That shit was insane.” 

Remus nodded. It had been mind-blowing – he needed to remember to get the recipe off of James next week. “Yeah, it was lush – did you try Kingsley’s though? So nice.”

“Oh, Kingsley is just  _ unfair _ , imagine being able to make such delicious cakes  _ and _ looking like that? Leave some for the rest of us, yeah?” Sirius laughed, pushing his hair out of his face casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Remus. Was Sirius... No, he couldn’t be. 

But then again, the Bake Off did have a strong history of being extremely queer.

In any case, Sirius’ comment had been innocuous, and Remus thought it was rude to make assumptions, and also to stare. He blinked, before trying to formulate an answer.

“Yeah, everyone on this show is so pretty, it’s intimidating.” He shrugged, trying not to draw any particular attention any way. Sirius nudged him with his elbow.

“You’re not too bad looking yourself, you know?” 

Remus felt his cheeks heat up, and was very grateful to see Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene McKinnon heading down the hallway towards them. They were talking softly, their heads inclined towards each other, and walking very closely. Remus raised his eyebrows at Sirius.

“What’s going on there?”

“Huh?” Sirius looked at the two women very obviously, but shook his head. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Hey, you’re Remus, right?” Dorcas asked. She was short and soft, with a halo of tight dark curls around her face. Yet again another devastatingly beautiful person to make Remus feel inadequate. He tried to remember what Sirius had said and stood a little straighter.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He gave her an awkward smile, before turning to her companion. “Marlene?” 

She gave a broad smile. She was tall and athletic, her red shirt showing off muscular arms. He had heard some whisperings that she was a professional footballer, and  she clearly liked to work out. Her blonde hair was cut into a blunt bob which bounced around as she shook her head. “Yep, good to meet you. I tried some of your birthday cake today and it was  _ insane _ .”

Remus laughed nervously. He  _ really  _ hated compliments, but he supposed he ought to get used to it. The four of them stood around and made small talk for a few minutes until Alistair Moody finally arrived, a gruff man in his forties who had a prosthetic leg. His eyes were two different colours, and his nose was crooked as if it had been broken in the past. He looked at them all as if he was daring them to ask about any of these features but clearly, none of them were brave enough.

They were shown to a table in the middle of the room, circular, with an arrangement of seasonal flowers in the centre. Sirius had insisted that Remus sat next to him, which he had been grateful for, and the waiter had handed them all menus with an almost impossible set of choices inked upon them. Everything sounded delicious.

“God, I have no idea what to choose!” Dorcas giggled, looking to Marlene. “What do you reckon you’ll have?”

Marlene shrugged. “There’s only one veggie option, so I guess that.”

“Isn’t it great,” Sirius quirked an eyebrow, “when these fancy chefs can design twenty dishes that earn them Michelin Stars, but as soon as they’re asked to omit  meat, they’re at a complete loss.” 

Moody tutted loudly. “Ah, just get some beef in yah, you’ll survive it, I’m sure.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and Marlene laughed, but neither of them said anything. Remus felt decidedly awkward about the situation. Dorcas seemed to notice.

“What about you, Remus; what are you going to have?” She gave him an encouraging smile.

“You know what? I have no idea.” He sighed, scanning his eyes down the menu a third time. “Might just ask the waiter for a recommendation.”

Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes as if he and Remus went out for dinner all the time. “Fancy - whenever I can’t decide I just close my eyes and point.”

“Good thing there’s only one option, then.” Remus quirked an eyebrow at him. Sirius barked a laugh, giving Remus a brilliant grin before going back to his menu. Remus wasn’t sure why he was still looking at it – he'd already decided – but didn’t comment. 

Conversation quickly changed to the next week’s episode, which was all about biscuits. They had been given the brief in advance for both the signature challenge and the showstopper – a terrifying 3D biscuit task wherein they had to build a mode of transport using only biscuits – but the technical was to remain a mystery until they were back in the tent next weekend. That didn’t stop them all from guessing what it could be, however.

“I’ve been brushing up on the basics, stuff like shortbread, you know?” Marlene was saying. “Last year it was Viennese whirls, so it really could be anything.”

Sirius shrugged, not looking up from the bread roll he was covering in a  pât é-thick layer of butter. “I had a go at some custard cremes last week, just in case.”

Remus was glad he wasn’t the only one who had been trying the most random stuff possible. He had bought himself a copy of every McGonagall recipe book and made a batch of as many of the biscuit recipes as he could with varying success.

“I just hope it’s not something overly complicated,” Remus admitted through a mouthful of bread, “I hate savoury biscuits. I just want to make some bourbons or something, the signature is going to be a nightmare.”

For their signature, they had to make twenty-four savoury biscuits that could be paired with cheese. Remus had settled on some rye things flavoured with tomatoes and garlic, but he really wasn’t very confident. He was just hoping that his lemon gingerbread, which was a favourite back home, did him proud in the 3D challenge and his hot air balloon stayed put.

Moody grunted in recognition. He had been close to the bottom of the pack that weekend, though still marginally better than Lockhart in every category possible, and he was clearly not feeling confident about biscuits. He had told them all that bread and desserts were his specialties, and Sirius had struck up a spirited discussion about sourdough which lasted well beyond their starter course and into their main. Dorcas, Marlene and Remus had been completely lost after the first ten minutes, Dorcas rolling her eyes dramatically as the waiter took their soup bowls away.

“Did you  hear that Sirius brought his sourdough starter with him?” She asked, her voice low so that Sirius didn’t hear them talking about him. He was far too absorbed in conversation to notice, but Marlene replied in a whisper anyway.

“Yeah, like why? It’s not bread week for another two weeks.” She pulled a face, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips. 

Remus laughed. “Did you know he’s called it Gerald? He showed me in the car over.” He sat up a little straighter, stretching his back out. “It’s sweet, though, I suppose.”

Dorcas quirked an eyebrow at him and tilted her head slightly. Remus instantly regretted saying anything. Dorcas, thankfully, did not push the subject. 

“Well, I think you have to feed a sourdough starter every so often – I dunno though, I never liked it so never made it. Might just need to feed it this weekend.” Marlene shrugged, breaking off a piece of bread from her side plate and throwing it into her mouth. 

Dorcas snorted, “what, like a cat?”

Marlene looked at her carefully, her painted red lips a sly smile. “I  _ told _ you, I don’t know shit about sourdough.”

There were a few moments where they were silent, just Marlene and Dorcas making deliberate, direct eye contact. Remus was starting to feel decidedly like a third wheel. He cleared his throat, just to remind them that he was still there.

“Uh, so what do you do, Dorcas? As a job, I mean.” Remus asked, cursing the fact that Sirius was so absorbed in bread discussion that he could not lead the conversation for them. Dorcas’s mouth stretched into a wide smile, her face practically lighting up.

“I work in a museum in Canterbury,” she explained, “just a small one. It’s this beautiful old Tudor building – you'll all have to come and visit sometime.” She touched Marlene’s arm as she said this. Remus tried to hide his smile. “I look after the paintings, make sure the conditions in the galleries are right, check for damage and all that. It probably sounds boring, though.” 

“I think it sounds wonderful.” Marlene propped her elbow on the table, her head resting on her fist, blinking at Dorcas with a wistful look. She had already finished her first glass of wine. 

Remus had to admit, it  _ did _ sound like a dreamy job. “Sounds lush to me,” he said as much, “I’d love to do something like that.”

Dorcas picked up her wine glass. “Oh yeah, you’re the book reviewer, aren’t you?” She took a sip, her eyes flickering over to Marlene for a moment. 

“Yep, that’s me. Yes, I make money from ads and sponsorships, no people don’t pay me to say their books are good.” He rattled this off in a voice thick with sarcasm, and Marlene and Dorcas laughed heartily.

Dorcas raised her wine glass to her lips and smirked. “Get a lot of questions about that, do you?”

“No,” Remus smiled, “never.”

They laughed, and the conversation started to flow more easily for Remus – though that might have been the wine. Moody and Sirius were eventually drawn out of their bread discussion and back to the group by Marlene, who had proclaimed loudly that she was  _ bored _ of them. Moody then spent the rest of the evening regaling them with tales of his time as a blade in the SAS, though his stories were full of holes and omissions. He gave them a stern look after he had recounted the tale of how he had lost his eye, which had clearly been heavily redacted, daring them to ask questions. Marlene had tried, but had been shut down immediately with a wave of a hand and a “That’s classified, McKinnon.”

By the time they went back up to their rooms, Remus was so exhausted he felt like he could sleep for a week. He fell back onto the duvet, still fully clothed, and fell asleep like that, shoe-clad feet hanging over the edge of the furniture.

***

“How’d it go?”

Frank was getting in  Remus’ way in the kitchen again, grazing from the selection of savoury biscuits spread out across the table as Remus washed up at the sink, his back to the him. He glanced around at Frank, who was giving a garlic and sundried tomato crispbread a precautionary sniff, and shrugged.

“You know I can’t give you any details – family only.” 

Frank took a bite of the biscuit, which snapped satisfyingly. If Remus could bake them this well next weekend, he could be in with a good chance of staying in the competition, he reckoned. Unless everyone else was thinking exactly the same thing. Frank pressed on with his interrogation.

“But you’re going back again this weekend?” He quirked an eyebrow at Remus, who pressed his lips together in a hard line. He supposed he couldn’t avoid that one.

He shrugged again. “Well, yeah.” He went back to his washing up, not wanting to give away too much to Frank, who was sure to go straight to their housemate Alice, who would go straight to Twitter. “You can’t tell anyone anything about the show, you know that?”

“Yep.” Frank spoke through a mouthful of crumbs, and continued chewing loudly.

“Good, because I could get sued or whatever.” Remus sighed, placing the mixing bowl he had just finished rinsing onto the draining board. He grabbed a tea towel and dried off his hands, turning back towards Frank and leaning a hip against the counter. “Or kicked off the show, I guess. I don’t know, someone was talking over the producers when they were telling us so I never heard.”

Frank finished the crispbread before pulling out one of the dining chairs and sitting down, propping his head up on his fist and regarding Remus with an inquisitive eye. “What are the other bakers like?”

Remus rolled his eyes, but made his way over to the table with Frank and sat opposite him, taking one of the crispbreads before Frank ate them all. “They’re pretty nice – I haven’t spoken to all of them but the ones I have were lush, on the whole.”

“On the whole?” Frank smirked. “Go on, who’s been starting drama?”

Remus laughed. “It’s not fucking  _ Drag Race _ , everyone is fine. I won’t lie to you, though, there is this one guy who seems really sour – had a go at one of the other bakers for nicking his recipe book even though he hadn’t been near his stuff – but other than him, yeah, everyone’s alright.”

Frank raised his eyebrows. “Well, I hope that guy went home.”

“I do realise you’re just trying to get me to spoil the episode, you know?” Remus took a bite of the crispbread – maybe a little  _ too  _ much garlic. Though, was that even possible? “My lips are sealed, unless I am opening them to fill with delicious baked goods.”

“Just baked goods, of course.”

Remus frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I noticed you’ve reactivated your Grindr, that’s all.” Frank raised an eyebrow and smirked, his tongue on his teeth.

Remus felt his face growing hot and opened his mouth to answer, but didn’t quite know what to say. “I, uh, just thought -”  _ what _ ? What did he just think? 

“You just thought you should get your slutty phase out of the way  _ before _ you appear on the biggest TV show in Britain? Good call, I support you.” Frank interrupted Remus's stammering with an almost perfect read of the situation.

“I mean, you didn’t have to call me out quite so directly, but fine. You’re right.” Remus did not feel inclined to add that certain other bakers had been so pretty that they had been putting  _ thoughts _ into his head, no matter how true that might have been. “I’m thinking of deleting it again, truth be told. You know I hate meeting new people.”

Frank scoffed. “Not exactly  _ meeting _ people, though, is it?”

Remus said nothing, only took another bite of his biscuit. He didn’t know Frank all that well, and did not really feel comfortable discussing the intricacies of Grindr hook-ups with him. Not quite so early on a Wednesday afternoon. Frank did not say anything, but broke off a small chunk of crispbread and threw it in his mouth, watching Remus carefully with a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes lingered on Remus for just long enough to be significant. 

“Do you think these have too much garlic?” Remus asked, his voice slightly louder than usual, changing the subject abruptly. Frank considered it for a moment, chewing slowly and licking his lips.

“No such thing, is there?

***

Remus found it extremely difficult to focus on work in the days between the  _ Bake Off _ . He was supposed to be keeping up with his schedule of at least two new book reviews and a recipe every week, but he had found himself slipping significantly quickly. It didn’t help that he wasn’t allowed to post any of his submitted recipes online, so he would have to come up with something completely new for his blog while also practicing for the weekend non-stop. He decided to scrap the recipes completely for the next however-many-weeks he was left in the competition, and cut back to one book review until he was free again. He had made some bullshit post about having a social media break to cover for himself, and he just hoped that everyone would buy it.

_ Mary McDonald to Remus Lupin, 10:30: _

_ \- Social media break? You bullshitter. You couldn’t delete your Twitter even for a night with Ben Barnes. _

Remus was on the train again, taking the two-and-a-half-hour journey from Cardiff to Newberry with a renewed sense of calm, and a good book. A publishing house had sent him an advance copy of his favourite author’s new novel, and it felt like a good omen for the weekend. Things were going to be alright this week, he could tell. 

Mary’s text lit up his phone screen on the tray table in front of him. He bookmarked his place and put his book down, unlocking his phone and laughing at her. She always did have a way with words.

Technically he wasn’t supposed to have told Mary he was on the show, but he trusted her. She was the only person he ever went to for advice, on the very rare occasion that he went to anyone for advice.

_ Remus Lupin to Mary McDonald, 15:31: _

_ \- For Prince Caspian? I would throw my laptop out of a  _ _ twenty-storey _ _ building. _

_ Mary – Hahahahahahahahaha _

_ Mary – How are you feeling, champ? _

_ Remus – Actually not that bad, I reckon biscuits might be my week. _

_ Mary – You perfected those crispbreads then? _

_ Remus – Ye, I posted you some this morning so hopefully you can try them tomorrow _

_ Mary – Can't wait omg _

Remus returned to his book, pausing occasionally to make note of his thoughts as he went. He had to change trains five times because of the route, which meant he only got to read in short bursts, but it was better than nothing. By the time they pulled into Newberry station he was a quarter of the way through the book – hopefully he’d be able to get it finished by Sunday, and then he could write his review on the train home.

Lucius met him at the station again, though this time he was the only one being picked up. Remus couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed by this, he had been looking forward to chatting with Sirius on the ride to the hotel. Instead, he sat in silence in the back of the car listening to the local radio station babble on about the  _ Bake Off _ filming happening that weekend. Apparently, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, famous sketch comedy duo and hosts of the show, had been spotted in a local café that morning. Absolutely  riveting content.

Remus went straight to his hotel room as soon as he arrived, knowing that most of the other bakers wouldn’t arrive until much later in the evening on account of them all having proper jobs that they couldn’t do on a train. He spent the next few hours reading and making notes, absolutely devouring the new novel. He had a feeling he was going to be giving it five stars, a rarity on his blog. Hopefully it would generate more clicks than usual, especially seeing as he was putting out far less content than usual. He still had bills to pay.

He was pulled out of his reading trance by a sharp knock on the door, which made him jump. He wasn’t sure who would be knocking so early on in the evening, but when he checked the  time, he found it was actually a lot later than he had thought. He needed to hurry or he’d miss dinner in the restaurant – it was half past nine.

“Remus, you there? They told me this was your room.” It was James, yelling through his door. “I really hope it’s this room, anyway. ‘Will be really embarrassing if it’s not.”

Remus chuckled, putting his book down and getting up from where he had been sitting on the bed. He stretched and rolled his neck. The joints clicked, as usual, and he rubbed his shoulder absently. Time for another weekend of being constantly on his feet.

He went over to the door and pulled it open, James greeting him with a grin that was so wide it almost split his face in two. Sirius was hanging back in the hallway behind him, and let out a sign of relief when he saw Remus.

“Thank fuck, we were worried this was Snape’s room. He’s still pissed with us.”

Remus yawned as James stepped away from the doorframe to let him join them in the hallway. He stepped out and locked the door, turning to the two boys, feeling suddenly a lot more at home. “He still reckons that was you, then?”

James nodded, looking stressed. “He threatened to go to the producers, but I think Evans managed to convince him not to.” James must have caught the confusion on Remus's face, because he continued with an explanation. “They got the train down together, apparently they live in the same village.” He shrugged. “Anyway,  wanna go get some dinner? Dorcas said she hadn’t seen you when everyone else went down earlier.”

“Yeah, I’d love to.” Remus gave the two men a genuine smile, happy that they had thought to come and get him. “I’ve been caught up in a book, didn’t realise what time it was.”

“We just got here.” Sirius explained, as they began heading down the hall to the lift, falling into step with Remus. “Seeing as we knew we’d both be coming this week we booked a train together – I work pretty late on Fridays though so we missed everyone else.”

“That’s why he stinks of Burger King.” James pulled a face, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at Sirius. 

Sirius laughed sarcastically, pressing the button to call the lift. “Not all of us get to live off our daddy’s hair gel money, mate.”

The lift dinged and they all piled in, then made their way down to the restaurant. The menu was the same as the week before, as was to be expected, and Sirius complained only a little about having to eat the same thing again. They spent the evening discussing the upcoming weekend; what they had planned to make, what they thought might come up in the technical, how they thought that the judges would react to their bakes. Sirius seemed very worried about biscuits, but James was relatively confident. Remus supposed he had earned that right, as the star baker the previous week. Remus’s newfound confidence had, surprisingly, not ebbed over the last few hours, and he told James and Sirius about the crispbreads he had been practicing and perfecting all week with a sense of pride that he was almost unused to. 

Sirius had nodded approvingly, nudging him with a  boney elbow. “Can’t wait to try one, mate.” He smiled, not his usual bold grin, but a small smile just for Remus. He felt something in his stomach twist. 

“I’ve had enough of them now, if I'm honest with you.” Remus raised his eyebrows, bringing a forkful of pasta up to his mouth. “I’ve made about six batches of them this week, there’s only so many biscuits me and my housemates can eat. Ended up posting some to my friends from uni.”

“Should’ve posted some to us,” James said through a mouthful of risotto, “I’m sick of eating my own baking now.”

Sirius nodded in agreement, over exaggerated like a dog on the dashboard of a car. “We should swap addresses so we can all test each other’s baking.”

Remus had to admit that it sounded like a good idea. Eating two hundred biscuits a week sounded great in theory, but in practice was becoming quite a chore, and he really hated food waste. He had been considering making up boxes and handing them out to his neighbours, but he was too anxious that they would ask him why he was doing so much baking. 

They finished up their dinner, having swapped addresses and phone numbers while waiting for their desserts to arrive, and Remus left James and Sirius to their own devices to go to bed. He felt dead on his feet as he waited for the lift to arrive. It was past eleven and he wasn’t used to staying up late. He just hoped it wouldn’t throw him off for the episode taping the next day.

Thankfully, the weekend was devoid of sleepless nights. Remus felt in his element, barely even noticing the cameras being forced into his face, and relaxing into the banter with the Prewett twins with a renewed sense of confidence. The presenters and the judges always did the rounds, asking the bakers about their recipes and what they were intending to make. McGonagall was usually very stern, almost deliberately attempting to throw people off the mark. Dumbledore, by contrast, would just give the bakers a cheeky smile and a twinkle of his eyes and tell them their bake sounded ‘scrumptious’. 

During the signature bake, Remus described his crispbreads to the judges with pride, something which Gideon seemed to notice instantly.

“I see you’re feeling a lot more confident this week, are biscuits your thing?” The presenter asked, sidling up to Remus, a camera following him closely. Remus gave him a smile.

“I never really thought so, but I’ve made hundreds of these this week and I can’t get my housemate to stop eating them.” He said, picking up the mixing bowl he had just dumped his ingredients into and taking it over to the electric mixer. He really ought to get one of these for home, it was so much better for his shoulder than using a spoon. 

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “An underdog for biscuit week, eh?” 

Remus shrugged, but laughed. “I’m not sure about that, but I feel pretty confident about my flavours this week. I know I’m not the only one though.”

It was true. Lily had proved herself to the queen of biscuits over the course of the weekend. Her salted rosemary and blue-cheese water biscuits had amazed the judges and the rest of the bakers, who had crowded around her bench to try them as soon as the cameras were off. Remus’s had proved exceptionally popular as well, earning a handshake from McGonagall that had almost sent him to the floor and probably would have, if Lily hadn’t gotten one not ten minutes before him.

Remus didn’t want to seem bitter, but he was extremely bitter. The one week he had been feeling confident, the one week he was in with a shout for star baker, someone was right on his tail. He just hoped that he could shake her off in the technical and showstopper challenges.

“For this week’s technical, Minerva and Albus would like you to make twelve identical arlettes.” Gideon announced from the front of the tent as all the bakers stood behind their work stations. The cameras were trained in on him and his brother, though a few were watching the bakers intently, looking for any hint of acknowledgement or confusion at the reveal.

Remus gave a quick glance around to the other bakers. He certainly had not practiced  arlettes for this week, he just hoped that he wasn’t alone in that fact. Lily’s triumphant smirk told him that she, at least, knew what she was doing.

_ Fuck _ .

“Your  arlettes should be light and crisp, with a perfect  cinnamon whirl.” Fabian continued.

Okay, so they have a whirl of some kind, that’s a start.

The recipe they were given was one of McGonagall’s, which always had extra pressure. She was a stickler for the details, and would know if they’d even used a gram more butter than they were supposed to. They had been given two and a half hours to make them, which seemed to Remus like an awful long time, until he looked at the recipe.

“Step one: make puff pastry.” He read aloud for the camera that had been brought over to his station, and then glanced at it, deadpan. “Truth be told, I think these instructions are a bit lacking.”

The producers behind the camera laughed, seemingly happy with his contribution as they led the cameras away and left him to it. He wasn’t feeling too panicked yet – he was pretty decent at pastry on a good day, and today had proved so far to be good. He made his dough and left it to chill, taking a look around at the other bakers as he allowed himself a brief respite. Lily was having a cup of tea, having sped ahead of the others, her dough already chilling and her mixer running on the counter next to her. James was frantically kneading at the station in front of her. She was eyeing him with a strange look on her face.

At the back of the room, Sirius was wrestling with the fridge, trying to open it with a cling filmed wad of pastry in one hand and the other covered in butter and flour. Remus wondered why he didn’t just put the dough down.

Remus returned to the recipe, as if that was going to help him. The same instruction just stared at him.  _ Make puff pastry _ . Okay, so he had his dough chilling – what was the next step? Butter.

He made his way over to the  ingredients fridge, taking out the butter and returning to his counter. He remembered reading McGonagall’s pastry recipe in the past. For the butter layer she often mixed it with flour, he was fairly sure. Was fairly sure enough? He supposed it had to be, as he measured out his ingredients and dumped them into the mixer. It was still mostly butter, and it looked pretty good to him as he poured it out onto a sheet of cling film and wrapped it, taking it back to the fridge to chill along with the dough. It all had to be as cold as possible, or the pastry wouldn’t develop the flaky layers when it cooked.

He picked up the timer on the counter and stared at it for a moment. How long to chill it for? At home he was too impatient and would only wait around ten minutes before he carried on, but this was a real competition. The dough needed to be  _ really _ cold. Twenty-five minutes should do it.

Now it was his turn to be the one observing and drinking tea as the others ran around like headless chickens trying to figure out what to do. The producers had kindly fetched him a stool after he had told them quietly about his chronic pain, and he was happy enough to sit and reread the next few steps of the recipe over and over, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. 

“I don’t think I could even tell you what an  arlette looks like, to be honest with you.” He said, shrugging, when the producers came back around with their cameras. “I’m just  gonna wing it and see what happens.”

There was more dough rolling and folding and chilling, and an hour later the biscuits were finally ready to go in the oven. He thought he might have been a little overconfident, as he slid the baking sheet into the oven, seeing as he wasn’t even sure that they were the right shape, but he couldn’t imagine that something with so much butter and cinnamon in it could ever be  _ bad _ . The only issue was that the recipe hadn’t said what temperature to cook them at, or for how long.

Remus tried to take a sneaky look at what Lily was doing, but found her staring right at him, a defiant ‘try me, bitch’ look in her eye. He looked away, embarrassed to have been caught trying to get pointers from her, and instead elected to just sit on the ground in front of his oven. He knew they’d film him sat like this; they always filmed people squatting in front of their baking, it made for a good shot to build the tension. It was obvious, when the bakers did this, that they had no idea what was going on.

He decided to take them out after ten minutes. They looked a little darker than the other bakers, which he hoped just meant that everyone else had done theirs wrong, and not the other way around. Remus plated them up just in time and, as Gideon and Fabian called time up, took them to the front of the tent to be judged.

He came a respectable third in the technical. He had slightly overbaked his  arlettes but his puff pastry was described as ‘perfect’ by Dumbledore, who had said his biscuits would have been perfect to dip into a cup of tea. Only Lily and Pomona Sprout, a stout middle-aged woman who wore a lot of floral prints, had bested him. It had been a bad challenge for Alistair Moody, who was clearly not an expert in pastry making. All the butter had leaked out of his pastry because he hadn’t chilled it enough.

The day was over, and after filming a few confessionals - “not too shabby, that, was it?” - Remus and the other bakers made their way back up to the hotel, strolling lazily back up through the grounds in the late afternoon sunshine. It was the summer, and the temperature was getting hotter and hotter by the day. Remus really ought to stop wearing jumpers, but they were the only nice items of clothing he owned. 

Sirius caught up with Remus, jogging a little to get to the front of the group before falling into step next to him. He looked up and gave him a lop-sided smile. “You did great today, mate.”

Remus felt his cheeks heat up a little, though that could have just been the sunshine. “Thanks, I feel pretty good about this week, think I could be in with a shot for star baker.”

“That makes one of us, at least.” Sirius slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, drawing his shoulders up and giving a flat-mouthed smile. Devoid of his leather jacket, a tattoo of a black dog poked out from under the sleeve of his old Queen T-shirt, and Remus noticed for the first time that he wore a few ragged festival bracelets on his wrist.

Sirius hadn’t had the best day in the tent. He had confessed last night that he had been nervous about savoury biscuits – he was only good at the sweet stuff, apparently. His pumpkin seed and thyme oatcakes had been fine, but fine wasn’t the standard that the judges were looking for, and it was highly possible that he could be in the bottom. The technical hadn’t gone too much better. Sirius had always said he was awful at pastry. He had come ninth out of eleven, beating only Marlene and Moody, who had also been having a nightmare of a weekend.

“You’ll be fine, Sirius,” Remus gave him a reassuring smile and reached out to place a hand on his arm, “what are you making tomorrow?”

Sirius looked a little queasy. “A motorbike. I’m doing gingerbread though, like most of the others – I'm worried that mine will be the worst.”

Remus shook his head as they approached the hotel doors. “Don’t be stupid, I think it’s fairly clear who’s going home already. At least  your arlettes weren’t raw.”

“I suppose.” Sirius muttered as he reached out to open the door for Remus. He gestured for the taller man to enter and Remus obliged, hanging back for Sirius to catch up with him. “Anyway, I fancy a drink, what do you reckon?”

Remus nodded. “You’re on.”

***

It always made great TV when someone’s showstopper collapsed in the last moments of the challenge. It was thrilling. You’d gasp, clutching your chest and sitting forward in your seat and maybe even shout at your TV, if you were invested enough. 

It didn’t feel quite as fun when you were there in person, however.

Remus had been adding the finishing touches to his lemon gingerbread hot-air balloon model, which he had actually managed to bake so it was rounded, when he heard it. A huge  _ crash  _ from somewhere behind him just as the Prewett twins were beginning their countdown. Remus was at the front of the room, so it could have been anyone who had just lost five hours of work in the blink of an eye. He just hoped it hadn’t been Sirius.

There were gasps and cries from several of the bakers, and Remus whipped around to try and see what had happened. Peter, Lily and Marlene were all gathered around Moody’s station, where his shortbread spitfire was now lying in a heap on the floor. They were frantically trying to pick up the broken pieces and stick them back together on his serving plate, but Moody seemed to have given up, and was waving them all off. 

“Leave it to me, as if I needed another  sign I wasn’t going to make it to next week.” He grunted, scooping the shortbread off the floor and dumping it unceremoniously on his counter, just as the Prewetts announced that time was up.

The judging did not go well for Moody, who, by this point, was resigned to his fate. His icing glue had not been the right consistency, and was not strong enough to hold together such a heavy biscuit. Moody growled a thank you and carried his plate back to his counter, not looking back at the judges.

McGonagall and Dumbledore loved Remus’s design and execution, but felt that his flavours were lacking a little. He could have added more dimension, and perhaps two different types of biscuit for some sort of contrast? Remus wasn’t sure why they seemed to be holding him to a higher standard than the others, but he thanked them politely and carried his showstopper back to his station, and seethed in silence as Lily earned her second handshake of the weekend.

Moody was sent home, and Remus was robbed of the star baker title by Lily, who accepted it so humbly and gracefully it was almost difficult for Remus to be bitter. He still pushed on like a trooper and managed it, though, but he at least tried to make it through the confessionals without looking like a complete arsehole.

“I’m just happy to be through to next week.” He had smiled at the cameras, holding up an umbrella to stave off the heavy rain. “Though I am  _ dreading _ having to make bread for Minerva McGonagall.”

“Very convincing,” Sirius gave Remus a sly smile after they had finished filming their interviews, “anyone would think that you were happy for Evans.”

Remus looked at him carefully, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come off it, mate.” Sirius barked a laugh. “You’re absolutely fuming you didn’t get star baker.”

“I got a  _ handshake _ .” Remus threw his arms up to emphasise his point. “McGonagall said I had made  _ perfect _ pastry ! And then I didn’t even get the star baker title!”

Sirius laughed, the rain dripping off of his nose as he threw his head back. “You may have gotten a handshake, mate, but Lily got  _ two _ .”

Remus sulked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his brown cords and huffing loudly. He knew Sirius was right, but he didn’t have to  _ say  _ it.

“Well, when you put it like that, I didn’t really deserve it,” Remus supposed, shrugging as they approached the hotel doors, “let me have my fantasy though, yeah?”

“Alright, Remus,” Sirius smirked, opening the door, “anything you say.”


	3. Bread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: food poisoning & vomiting at the end of this chapter

Remus arrived back home in the early afternoon on Monday, having had a quiet breakfast with Sirius, Marlene and Dorcas before they made their separate ways home. The girls had been holding hands under the table, but had clearly thought that no one else had noticed. Remus thought it was sweet; Sirius seemed blissfully oblivious to the whole situation, but Sirius was blissfully oblivious about a lot of things.

Frank was peeking his head around his bedroom door as soon as the front door clicked shut, grinning at Remus.  Of  _ course _ , he had the downstairs room. How dare Remus have a moment to himself in his own home.

“Are you going back next week, then?” Frank asked, a cheeky twinkle in his dark eyes, not even giving Remus a full minute to collect himself before launching into his interrogation. Remus tilted his head and looked at him judgingly.

“You  _ know _ I’m not supposed to tell you anything.”

Frank pulled his door open all the way and emerged into the hallway. He was wearing acid-washed ripped jeans with no shirt. Remus supposed his room must be warm, what with the midday sun streaming through his bay window, and made a monumental effort to look only at the man’s face. Frank raised a single thick eyebrow. “I didn’t ask anything about the show, I’m just wondering if you’ll be going back.”

He folded his arms across his chest, smirking at Remus like he knew that he had caught him out. Remus sighed, kicking off his trainers and rolling his eyes, speaking as he leant down to pick up his shoes and put them on the organiser by the door.

“ _ Fine,  _ yes I will be back next week.” Remus gave him a stern look, before brightening a little. It was quite nice to be able to speak about it in a way that he knew would not get him in to trouble. He decided to carry on, not actually saying anything about the show, but telling Frank everything at the same time. “Expect a lot of bread this week, by the way.” 

Frank gave him a little mock-salute. “I’ll make sure to go to big Tesco for spreads and dips first thing tomorrow.” He regarded Remus for a few moments more, before speaking again, this time much softer. “Hey, I know we’re not really  _ friends _ or whatever, but I’m proud of you, mate. No word of a lie, I'd have been home week one from nerves.”

Remus felt his stomach twist a little. People didn’t often tell him they were  _ proud _ . It felt... nice? He wasn’t sure. He mainly just felt uncomfortable. He looked away from Frank almost immediately, squirming under the man’s gaze. It was true, they weren’t friends, but this experience (and Frank’s seemingly endless capacity for eating baked goods) had brought them a little closer together. Remus wasn’t mad about it; Frank was actually a lot more tolerable than he had previously thought.

“Uh, thanks.” Remus scratched the back of his head, mainly just to have something to do with his hands. He gave Frank a sheepish smile, before pointing awkwardly up the stairs. “I should go unpack.”

Frank nodded, clearly sensing the nervous energy and standing up straight again, moving away from the doorframe and back to his bedroom door. He looked at Remus carefully and deliberately. It was slightly unnerving. “No problem. Hey, let me know when you’ve got some bread for me.” He pointed at Remus and raised an eyebrow again, before disappearing once more into his room, the heavy fire door slamming behind him on  its hinges.

Remus let out a breath that he had not realised he had been holding, and took a moment to pull himself back together. What was happening to him? No one had told him they were proud of him since his mother had died. He closed his eyes for a moment. 

Get over it, Lupin, it’s only  _ Frank _ .

He picked up his suitcase from where he had wheeled it through the door and headed up the stairs to his room, the biggest one at the back of the house. He paid the most in rent, but it was worth it for the upstairs bay window. He had his desk pushed up against it so that he could look out onto the long back garden while he worked, and the windows opened wide enough that he could get out and sit on the roof of the extension in the evenings. As much as he disliked living with so many people, he really did love his tiny part of the house.

He hauled the suitcase up onto his bed and unzipped it. Remus knew that if he didn’t unpack it immediately then he would just leave his clothes in there until he needed to repack it on Friday. He put his laundry in his hamper and hung up his jackets and the clothes that he hadn’t worn in his wardrobe, pausing only to set his phone playing an old Elton John album from his Spotify. 

He was just slipping his book back into its place on his shelf when his phone dinged loudly, pretty rudely interrupting Remus and Elton’s duet of  Rocketman . Remus straightened up and stretched, rolling his neck so that it cracked, before heading back towards his bed and picking up the phone.

_ Sirius Black to Remus Lupin 13:45:  _

_ \- Hey mate, you get back okay? _

Remus felt his cheeks grow hot, but tried to push the feeling down that had arisen in his stomach. Yes, Sirius was hot. Yes, he was potentially queer. That did  _ not  _ mean that Remus was 1) in with a shot or 2) in a position where it was in any way appropriate to ask out one of the other bakers on the show. He knew that Dorcas and Marlene seemed to have hit it off in that way, but what if something bad happened? What if they had a big row and fell out? The producers had said that the show went a lot better when everyone got along.

Remus didn’t think they wanted them all to fuck, though.

He was getting way ahead of himself. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, willing himself to think about literally anything but the image that had just popped up in his mind, instead choosing to list all of the ingredients and measures of the bread rolls he had to make the coming weekend. Remus’s brain always seemed to go a million miles an hour around these kinds of things. Sirius had only asked him if he had gotten home safe. He had called him  _ mate _ , for god’s sake.

_ Remus Lupin to Sirius Black, 13:47: _

_ \- all good yeah, you? _

_ S – Still on the train, got delayed at the station. My train ACTUALLY got struck by lightning in the storm, can you believe it? _

_ R – holy shit _

_ S – The fact you’ve got home before me when you live in actual WALES is so fucked though, am annoyed _

_ R – it's karma cos you’re english _

_ S – ahahahahahahaha _

_ S – rude _

Remus smiled down at his screen, before clicking the screen lock and throwing his phone back down on his bed. He was grinning like a kid with a crush. He  _ felt _ like a kid with a crush. It was pretty embarrassing, considering he was in his mid-twenties. He just hoped that one of two things happened:

1) He got over this infatuation within the next five days so he would be able to actually concentrate during bread week.

2) Sirius had the world’s worst weekend and was eliminated from the competition so that Remus would never have to see him again.

He knew it was cruel to hope for the second option, so he set his heart on the first and flopped down onto his bed, lying with his legs dangling off of the edge, looking up at the ceiling so that his sandy hair fanned out around his face. He picked his phone up again, holding it over his head and swiping it open. Frank might take the piss, but Grindr might just be his only hope.

***

Previous to that week, Remus had never thought that there was such a thing as eating too much bread. He now knew that he had been so very deeply incorrect.

The kitchen had become the home of what could only be described as a small hillock of bread rolls, which were piled up on both the counter and the table, using up all but one of the plates that the house had available. The only free crockery was currently being used by Remus, who was spreading butter across the sliced surface of a roll with far less enthusiasm than he had been doing three days ago. 

He swore to himself that he would never again make bread after this week.

His rye bread rolls were flavoured with coriander seed, caraway and aniseed, and he wasn’t entirely sure what ratio would work best. If he was completely honest with himself, he could barely even remember which ratio he was trying, as he ripped a bit from the roll with his teeth. It was delicious, but the texture still wasn’t quite perfect. He  _ really _ hated making bread.

It wasn’t just that he had a bad shoulder, because he didn’t want to use it as an excuse, but he could never get the kneading right. After two or three minutes he really was exhausted, and it needed to be done for ten  _ at least _ . He supposed he would just have to grin and  bear it. 

Maybe he should stop practicing so much, to conserve energy. Not that that was how it worked at all.

Frank was sat on the opposite side of the kitchen table, peering round the pile of bread rolls at him, a concerned look on his face. At the beginning of the week, he had been all for compulsory snacking, but now Remus thought he must be a little overwhelmed. On previous weeks Remus hadn’t gone quite  _ this _ over the top, but then Remus hadn’t been absolutely shitting himself before. He  _ knew _ he was shit at bread. And he really didn’t want to go home.

“What’s that one like? Better, or worse?” Frank asked. He had a notebook open and had kept track of the ratios for Remus, seeing as he was too frazzled to do it himself. Frank was ranking them with some sort of emoji-based system, drawing little smiley or sad faces next to the numbers on the page.

Remus frowned, chewing. “Better or worse than which one?”

“Uh, two-to-one-to-two. I think it was the second one.” Frank sat up a little straighter, peering over to the counter, before pointing at a plate on the other side of the room that was also piled high with rolls. “Those ones.”

Remus tried to cast his mind back, but he couldn’t remember. They all tasted the same to him now. He shook his head, swallowing the bread before pushing the plate towards Frank. “I don’t know anymore, you try.”

Frank picked up the bread roll and took a bite from the opposite side to Remus, furrowing his brow as he chewed. He seemed to mull it over for a few seconds, looking up at the ceiling as if the answer was somehow written up there. Remus sighed – this felt like a losing game. 

Frank swallowed. “That’s fucking delicious.”

“But is it  _ better _ ?” Remus rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, yeah for sure. These are perfect.” Frank grinned at him, and Remus gave him a queasy sort of smile, feeling a little nauseous. It was probably from all the bread. Or maybe from the anxiety. “So, we’re going two-to-one-to-one as our final ratio of coriander to caraway to aniseed,” the man opposite him continued, taking another bite and speaking as he chewed, “I mean,  _ you _ are, obviously.”

Remus hummed in response. He was sick of this now, but it had been true, at least, that Frank had been a big help this week. He was a PHD student, and Remus was grateful that he had taken the week off of writing his thesis to partake in this farce. A niggling worry hung in the back of Remus’s head about Frank’s possible motives for helping him, but Remus found it exceptionally easy to push it away behind the looming terror of the upcoming episode taping. He could deal with Frank potentially fancying him  _ after _ he had been kicked off the show for serving Minerva McGonagall the worst bread in the show’s history.

Frank slid the notebook across the table towards Remus. It had the ratio circled in pink biro, and several exclamation marks next to it with the word ‘LUSH’ written in capital letters. There was also a small smiley face with a big toothy grin. Remus smiled weakly at the annotations, before looking up and giving Frank the same expression. He had stood up, and was now looking down at Remus. 

Frank shrugged. “It seems our work here is done.” He reached down and picked up the plate, stacking two more bread rolls on top of it. “Do you mind?”

“I wouldn’t mind if you took them all, truth be told.” Remus waved a hand to indicate that Frank was welcome to have as many as he liked. The boy gave him a grateful smile.

“It’s only two days and then it’ll be over, you’ll smash it.” 

Remus shrugged. “I don’t feel like I will.”

“Nah, mate,” Frank waved one of the rolls in Remus’s direction, “I mean it, these are lush. Let me know if you need any help with your showstopper run-through tomorrow.” He dropped the bread down on the plate and headed off towards the kitchen door, leaving to go back to his room. 

Remus groaned. He had spent so long this week thinking about his signature that he hadn’t even considered practicing his showstopper – a centrepiece made entirely of bread. He knew that it was going to be shaped like a bunch of flowers and that he was going to be doing some pretty intense braiding for detail on the vase, and he had made it three times in the run up to the recordings, but he was  _ very _ out of practice. He was making a garlic and gouda bread, flavoured with oregano and thyme which had proved to be  mouth-watering when he had previously made it, but, as usual, the texture was always off.

He just hoped that one of the other bakers was even worse than him. He could survive until next week just so long as he was not the worst.

He had received a package from Sirius earlier that afternoon, but so far, he had been too bitter to open it. Sirius had made a point upon their first meeting to tell Remus that bread was going to be  _ his week _ , and had texted Remus the previous day from the post office, gushing about how proud he was of the sourdough rye rolls he had just posted. Remus knew he was being childish, sulking about his own shortcomings, but he couldn’t help it. He hated not being the best at something, and he really despised being made to do something that he wasn’t good at in front of people. And there would be an awful lot of people watching the  _ Bake Off _ in the autumn.

He had posted Sirius some of his bread rolls with a disclaimer that he knew that they were shit. Sirius had been very kind about them, texting Remus earlier that day to say he thought that they were delicious, but that they needed to be kneaded for longer. Yeah, as if Remus didn’t already know that. He shouldn’t be so annoyed about it, but he found it very frustrating when people didn’t understand that there were some things that he just found a bit more difficult than everyone else.

Not that he had told anyone but the producers about it. 

He sighed, picking up the parcel from where it sat on the dining chair next to him and picking at the tape that sealed it. Sirius had used black duct tape and had absolutely covered the entire box - it was almost impossible to get open. Remus got up and dug the kitchen scissors out of the  utensils drawer, and instead elected to rip it open. Inside was a Tupperware box with two  perfectly identical round bread rolls, and a small note in curly cursive handwriting.

_ Hope this week is treating you well, mate. You deserve good things (like these delicious bread rolls). _

_ Sirius x _

Remus found his eyes lingering on the kiss by Sirius’s name for a little longer than was absolutely necessary, and quickly folded the paper back up and slid it into the now-empty box. He opened the lid of the Tupperware and the most amazing smell filled his nostrils, which was saying something, seeing as the kitchen had smelled like freshly-baked bread for almost an entire week now.

Sirius had been right on their first taxi journey to the hotel – he was phenomenal at making bread. This shit was  _ insane _ . Remus didn’t think he had enjoyed a bread roll quite so much in his entire life, let alone the last three days.

God, he was fucked.

***

He had absolutely needed Frank’s help with his showstopper run-through on Thursday afternoon, and it had gone a lot better than Remus had expected. The two of them had had a very fun, if a little stressful, five hours, with only one small  interruption .

Frank had started out just as a timer and as a substitute for the Prewett twins, asking him purposefully distracting and annoying questions at regular intervals just to make sure that Remus would be fully prepared. Eventually, however, Frank’s curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had been inquiring more and more about the process of baking.

Remus had ended up showing him how to knead the bread dough and letting Frank do it for him, watching him with one hip leaning against the counter, his arms crossed. Frank looked over his shoulder at Remus and grinned his lop-sided smile. 

“How am I doing?” He asked, still pulling and stretching the dough on the floured countertop. 

Remus pushed himself upright, stepping a little closer to Frank so that he was just behind his shoulder, peering over at his handiwork. Remus watched Frank’s hands working the  dough for a few moments, letting his eyes linger on the man’s fingers – gripping and pulling. He nodded approvingly, “much better than I can do.”

Remus felt Frank freeze for a second as he stood so close behind him, and tried not to smirk. It was quite mean, he supposed, to tease him like that, but it wasn’t as if Remus wasn’t enjoying the view. He hadn’t really thought of Frank in that way before, but his brain had been fairly fixated on one thing in particular that week – and Frank was pretty easy on the eye.

Remus took a step back, swinging his arms down by his side for a moment before grasping the edge of the counter behind them, leaning back against the island. He couldn’t allow his search for a distraction from Sirius ruin his relationship with his housemate. It was just like back at  uni : you should never sleep with a flatmate – don't shit where you eat.

He was getting far too ahead of himself again. He took a deep breath. Frank looked round at him, an edge of concern crossing his features.

“You okay?”

Remus nodded, but rubbed his face with a pale, clammy hand. Frank stopped kneading and turned to look at Remus. He made an awkward sort of arm movement, as if reaching out to touch Remus’s shoulder, before realising that his hands were covered in flour. Remus rolled his shoulders back before standing up a little  straighter and smiling.

“All good.”

Frank gave him a look that told him he did not believe Remus at all, but he didn’t push the subject, much to Remus’s relief. He could probably bullshit something about being stressed for the weekend, but he wasn’t the greatest liar – and Frank always seemed to know when Remus was trying to hide something, especially when that something was about sex.

Frank cleared his throat and went back to the dough, turning his back on Remus again. “How long do I need to do this for, by the way?”

“About ten minutes is best,” Remus said, thankful to have baking back on the brain. Frank hummed in response and resumed his kneading; Remus watching with slightly less enjoyment than before. He felt a little guilty for even thinking the way that he had. It wasn’t really fair to objectify Frank, even if it was just in his head.

Remus rubbed his eyes again. He really needed to slow his brain down. Hopefully everything would be fine after the weekend.

“Alexa,” Frank spoke, but not to Remus. The tiny speaker in the corner of the kitchen lit up with a blue light. Frank continued, “shuffle ‘Bops’.”

“ _ Playing ‘Bops’ from Frank’s Spotify _ .” The speaker said, before launching into Sour Candy by Lady Gaga at full volume. Frank continued to knead the dough, matching the beat of the song, humming to himself and swaying his hips. Remus averted his gaze – he had done enough looking for today, he felt. 

He tried not to think about the fact that Frank blasting his music was probably just a way to cut off the conversation.

Once the dough had been kneaded, they covered it and set it aside to prove. Frank’s playlist was still going, the closing chorus of Wonderwall by Oasis filling the room as Frank sang along softly. His voice was nice – deep and warm – Remus could listen to it all afternoon very happily; and Frank caught Remus watching him a few times and had over-acted the lines. Remus found himself quite enjoying their day together, much more than he had anticipated, especially when The Bitch Is Back came on shuffle next and they held an  impromptu dance break.

“Oh, sorry! Don’t mind me, I didn’t realise I was interrupting.” 

Remus hadn’t even heard the kitchen door open over the music, which was how he already knew that their housemate was lying. Alice was carrying a laundry basket and a sour expression, and gave Frank a glare before heading over to the washing machine. She was short and fair, and had not been very happy about the increase in baked goods in the house over the last few weeks on account of her gluten intolerance. 

Remus glanced over at Frank, whose hands had suddenly fallen to his sides and his shoulders had slumped. Remus frowned – he may not have known them very well, but he was fairly certain that Frank and Alice had always been best friends, even before moving in to the house. Something must have happened while Remus had been away.

Alice bundled her clothes into the washing machine and opened the counter door to pull out the  detergent , tutting. 

“Alexa, volume down, please.” She spoke loudly and deliberately, and turned around to look directly at Frank as she did. The speaker volume decreased immediately. Remus suddenly felt very guilty – Alice's room was above the kitchen and she had a project deadline that week, if he remembered correctly. 

Frank shifted his weight a little and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “Sorry, Al, I didn’t think -”

“It’s okay, I know you don’t.” She spat the words out before Frank could even finish. Remus’s eyes widened. Just what  _ had _ gone down while he was gone? Alice slammed the washing machine door and span the dial on the front before jamming the start button with slightly more force than was strictly necessary. “Have fun together, won’t you?”

She spoke with venom, and did not look at Remus once. Frank looked as if someone had deflated him, and he stared down at his feet as Alice stormed out of the room, letting the fire door swing shut violently behind her. 

“What the fuck was that about?” Remus rounded on Frank immediately, not prepared to stand in silence in the aftermath of whatever had been going on between his two housemates. Frank did not look up from the floor.

“It’s nothing,” he shrugged, before looking up at Remus’s face, not making eye contact, “we just had a row, it’s fine.”

Remus frowned, but Frank’s tone had been so short that he knew not to press on it. Remus nodded; he wanted to comfort Frank somehow, he looked so sad, but he knew they weren’t very close. He felt it would be inappropriate to hug him, or even to touch his shoulder, especially after the things he had been thinking about earlier. Maybe this row with Alice had had something to do with him?

Remus shook his head. He really needed to stop himself always going to the  worst-case scenario immediately. It was probably just something about uni.

“I’m  gonna do the washing up.” Frank mumbled, moving away from Remus and over to the sink without another word. 

Remus sat at the table and pulled out his phone, scrolling idly through his Twitter feed as the smart speaker continued through Frank’s playlist. He didn’t want to press Frank on the subject, especially as the niggling worry it was something to do with him was still playing in the back of Remus’s mind. He resigned himself to an hour of ignoring each other while the dough proved – maybe Frank would even go back to his room, leaving him to finish the centrepiece alone? It seemed that Frank couldn’t stay quiet for that long, however, as he began singing along quietly to the Little Mix song that had begun to play, swinging his hips from side to side as he rinsed Remus’s mixing bowl. 

It carried on like this for a few songs – Frank by the sink, dancing and singing on the spot, washing Remus’s dishes and looking determinedly out of the window; Remus at the kitchen table, scrolling through his social media, trying not to watch Frank’s hips and failing miserably. Eventually it seemed that Frank had composed himself again, as he spoke up, looking back over his shoulder at Remus as he picked up the tea towel and began drying the pile of dishes on the draining board.

“So, how long does it prove for?”

Remus looked up from the screen, momentarily forgetting what they had even been doing in the kitchen in the first place. Ah yes, the bread. 

“About an hour should do it – there's a timer on her.” Remus pointed a thumb at the smart speaker, not wanting to say its name for fear of waking it up. He didn’t like it very much for a multitude of reasons, but he had to admit the timers were useful. 

Frank nodded, and addressed the speaker. “Alexa, how long’s left on my timer?”

“ _ You have fifteen minutes left on your  _ _ sixty-minute _ _ timer.” _

Frank nodded, finishing drying the plate he was holding and opening the crockery cupboard, sliding it in. “What’s next after it’s proved?”

Remus locked his phone and slipped it back into his jeans pocket, leaning back in his seat and stretching, hearing his shoulders click as he raised his arms over his head. “I’ve got to shape it – so I’ve got to do the braiding and stuff.” He rolled his neck in an effort to  relive a little of the pain which had developed from sitting looking down at his phone for so long. He really needed to sort out his posture. 

The conversation began to flow a little more freely after that, and the arrival of some David Bowie on Frank’s playlist got Remus back singing and dancing around the kitchen as he began creating his bread sculpture. Frank fell back into his role of pretending to be the Prewett twins, asking Remus increasingly ridiculous questions: “Remus, is it true that you once made a loaf of bread so delicious it killed a man?” “Remus, tell us your favourite memory of using Grindr.” “Tell us truthfully, did you decide to make garlic bread because you suspect another contestant is a vampire?”

Remus had answered every question as stupidly as possible, but in the  most sincere way that he could, making Frank dissolve into tears of laughter by the time he was putting his bread sculpture in the oven. 

“You know, Lupin, you’re actually pretty funny.”

Remus quirked an eyebrow at Frank, who was wiping a tear away from the corner of his eye with a knuckle. “Really? I would never have guessed you thought that.”

Frank scoffed, hitting Remus lightly on the shoulder with the back of his hand, shaking his head. “Shut up.”

Frank disappeared back to his room while the bread was cooking, which was fair enough. He had already wasted a lot of his day pissing about with Remus in the kitchen when he should have been working. Remus went upstairs only briefly, to grab his latest book and a notebook to write his thoughts in, as well as a pen and a pile of sticky notes. He had to get another review done by Sunday night and he hadn’t even thought about it yet. He was only three chapters into the novel, it was pretty shameful.

He settled down on the sofa in the half of the kitchen that also served as a living room, propping his feet up on the coffee table and opening his book in his lap. He would have to get up to check on the bread cooking every so often, but there was no need to be hanging around anxiously by the oven. It wasn’t as if he was actually in the  _ Bake Off _ tent at that moment. 

Frank returned just as Remus was taking his bread out of the oven, as if he had sensed that food would imminently be on offer. He hovered around Remus’s shoulder for a moment, looking at the centrepiece with an impressed look on his features that suggested that he thought that it looked a lot better than Remus did. His flowers had melted a little and no longer really resembled the sunflowers he had tried to sculpt. The weaved basket looked great, though, which was a relief.

“That’s impressive, that it.” Frank said, nodding toward the bread, raising an eyebrow.

Remus smirked. “Yeah, anyone would think I was in a baking competition or something.”

***

Remus caught his usual trains down to Newbury on Friday afternoon, having left Frank absolutely gorging himself on garlic bread in the kitchen. The man had wished him luck and placed an uneasy hand on Remus’s arm, gripping his bicep in a way that Remus had felt comforting, yet had caused a guilty twist in his stomach. He  _ liked _ Frank, that much was true, but he didn’t want to lead him on.

He had successfully distracted him from Sirius for a full week, however. But now he was alone again, heading straight for a weekend where Sirius was sure to be the centre of everyone’s attention, not just Remus’s for once.

Remus cursed himself – he'd been away from Frank for half an hour and already he was thinking about Sirius again. Those cheekbones, that hair, the way his smile was ever-so-slightly crooked, the way his eyes were almost grey as they sparkled in the sunlight. Remus dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes. He needed to get his act together before he arrived, he needed to get his head in the game.

_ Christ _ , he thought,  _ what it this? High School Musical? _

Remus hauled his suitcase off of the train at Newbury station, dragging it behind him as he trudged up the platform, looking around for Lucius Malfoy and his clipboard. He found the man standing by the ticket barriers, looking at his phone with a sour  expression , while an immaculate looking Sirius Black stood next to him,  talking animatedly.

“All  _ I’m  _ saying is that if you  _ really  _ want a good sourdough you want to feed – Remus!” Sirius cut himself off mid-sentence, noticing Remus walking towards them and waving enthusiastically. He grinned at Remus, who immediately felt as if he would like the floor beneath his feet to open up and drop him into the depths of hell where he belonged.

Sirius was supposed to be travelling with James now, wasn’t he? Remus was sure he had said last week that he worked late on a Friday – it was barely four o’clock in the afternoon. His stomach churned uncomfortably but Remus tried to hide his guilty conscience, giving Sirius a flat-mouthed smile and a weak wave.

“Alright, mate? Thought I’d come down early after the train fiasco last weekend.” Sirius gave Remus his explanation before he even had a chance to ask, slapping Remus on the back with a friendly hand as he stopped next to him. Sirius did not acknowledge that Remus clearly looked incredibly uncomfortable, and ploughed on with conversation. “I was just telling Lucius about the best way to make sourdough.”

“Yes,” Lucius interrupted, raising an eyebrow as he slid his phone back into the pocket of his jeans, “it was riveting. Unfortunately, we need to leave – I have a car waiting.”

Sirius looked pointedly at Remus and rolled his eyes, sighing loudly before his face cracked into a grin. God, he was beautiful.

Remus felt that guilty twist in his stomach again.

Lucius turned on the spot and set off at a pace without another word, and Remus and Sirius shared a look before heading after him. Remus still had not said anything. He wasn’t entirely sure what  _ to _ say. He didn’t even know if any words would come out if he tried. He wasn’t sure why he even felt so guilty – it wasn’t as if he and Sirius were dating. It wasn’t as if he and  _ Frank _ were dating. There was nothing stopping him from fancying as many people as he liked – and nothing stopping him from flirting with them either.

That wasn’t necessarily a good thing, however.

“So, how’s your week been?” Sirius asked, shrugging his backpack higher on his shoulder before nudging Remus with an elbow. They fell into step with each other easily, keeping pace despite Remus’s gait and Sirius’s short legs. Remus allowed himself to catch Sirius’s eyes for a moment and felt himself smile against his will. There was something about him that just lifted Remus’s spirits. Sirius looked at him like he had known Remus forever, like he was completely at ease. Remus only wished that he felt the same.

He found himself shrugging, looking away from Sirius and off into the middle distance, beyond Lucius and his swishing blond hair ahead of them. “It was alright, I suppose. Just made a lot of bread.”

Sirius nodded, but Remus could see him frowning out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t want Sirius to ask any more questions, so he spoke again quickly, hoping to interrupt Sirius’s thought process with a distraction.

“How’s yours been? How’s work?”

“Ah, it’s been okay – I picked up an early shift on Wednesday so that one of my co-workers could cover my shift today, but that meant I didn’t have that much time to practice. I’m hoping I can just remember how to make my showstopper, I did it about a hundred times while I was doing recipe development last month so I'm praying for my muscle memory to pull through.” Sirius sped up a little so that he was slightly ahead of Remus, clearly aware that Remus had been trying to avoid looking at him. His eyebrows knitted together. “Are you feeling okay, mate?”

There he went again, calling Remus ‘mate’ like it didn’t make his heart drop straight through his chest and out of his arse. Remus closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. It wasn’t fair to act like this; Sirius had no idea why Remus was being so cold. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, and neither was Sirius, so why did he feel so guilty? Remus knew it was probably just his anxiety – making his thoughts fly by at a million miles per hour and land almost immediately on the  worst-case scenario – and he tried to push the feeling down. There was no point punishing Sirius when he had done nothing to deserve it.

The last time Sirius had seen him, they had enjoyed a pleasant breakfast together before waving each other off at the station – and now Remus was acting like a dick who didn’t want to speak to him. Remus tried to imagine how he would feel if it was the other way around. He decided that it would feel bad.

Remus painted on a smile and let out a heavy breath. “Yeah, sorry – just a little travelsick from the train.”

Sirius’s eyebrows shot up again immediately. “Oh! Sorry, I’ve just been here babbling on about food, that must have made you feel  nauseous . Are you going to be okay in the taxi? I can ask Lucius if we can take a break first if you like?”

_ Christ _ , why was he so  _ nice _ ? That was hardly fair. 

Remus shook his head, holding up a hand. “No, I’m fine, I’m feeling a little better now already just for the fresh air.”

They stopped by the taxi and Lucius opened the door for them, a bored expression on his pale face. Everyone who worked on the  _ Bake Off _ production team seemed so warm and enthusiastic at all times, it was actually quite a nice contrast to be in Lucius’s presence. He always seemed like he would rather be literally anywhere else but working on the biggest show on British television.

The taxi ride was spent in silence, Sirius glancing over at Remus periodically with a concerned expression on his handsome  features . Remus tried to not feel too bad about lying to Sirius. What would have been the alternative? Telling him that he felt guilty for flirting with his housemate when he had a fat crush on Sirius? Remus was sure that wouldn’t go down well.

Lucius handed them their room keys and gave them a quick debrief upon arrival at the hotel, telling them that they had to be at the makeup trailer for seven-thirty in the morning as the bread episode would take longer to film than previous weeks. If they had any special ingredients, they had to be given to Lucius before they were allowed to leave, and Remus watched as Sirius handed over Gerald the sourdough starter like a concerned mother leaving her baby with a  babysitter she didn’t fully trust. Lucius tucked the jar under his arm and nodded to the two men, dismissing them for the evening and heading out of the back doors, where the tent was just about visible through the glass.

“You feeling better?” Sirius asked cautiously, fiddling with the  key card he had been handed, turning it over and over in his fingers.

Remus nodded, though it was a lie. Now he was just feeling guilty for making Sirius so worried. “Yeah, I might go and take a nap though, travelling really takes it out of me.”

That part wasn’t a lie. He was starting to hate the train journeys to Newbury – so many changes and so much uncertainty. If only one of his trains was  delayed, he would miss all of the others. The anxiety it induced creeped in the back of his mind for the whole journey, and by the time he arrived he was exhausted. Not to mention how uncomfortable the seats were.

Sirius nodded understandingly, placing a hand gently on Remus’s shoulder. Remus tensed a little at the prolonged touch, feeling like Sirius’s skin was burning against his worn old t-shirt, but if Sirius noticed he did not make it known. The shorter man gave Remus a soft smile, one side of his lips pulling up a little more than the other, and spoke quietly. “Sleep well, mate, I’m in room 305 if you want to get dinner later on.”

He left Remus alone in the reception, choosing to take the grand, mahogany staircase up to the third floor rather than wait for the lift. Remus watched him go, the backpack that was so casually slung over one shoulder bouncing against his back as he hurried away, taking the stairs at a half-jog. Remus’s felt the knot that had been forming in his stomach loosen – not much, but enough that he felt he could breathe properly again.

Remus looked down at the key card in his hand. Room 306. 

He felt that involuntary smile  pull at his lips again.

***

“No way!”

“Yes way.” Sirius smirked, lifting his wine glass to his lips and taking a sip, looking at Remus and raising his eyebrows as he did. He had been telling Remus an outrageous story about his co-worker, who had served a famous author at their Burger King, and had spat in her cheeseburger.

Remus shook his head, laughing. The combination of a good nap in a fancy bed and some expensive wine (compliments of the producers) had resulted in him feeling a  _ lot _ more relaxed around Sirius. “Don’t believe you.” Remus quirked an eyebrow, smirking, slurring his words slightly. “Not that I wouldn’t do the same if I was in that position, of course.”

Sirius barked a laugh, putting his wine glass down heavily. “Who  _ wouldn’t _ , I hate her guts.”

Remus nodded in agreement. The author in question was a prolific campaigner against LGBTQ+ rights – he would absolutely relish the opportunity to spit in her food. Any queer person would. Remus filed away Sirius’s response in the corner of his brain dedicated to ‘evidence that Sirius could possibly be gay’. He knew it was fruitless and quite inappropriate to speculate, but it wasn’t as if he would share it with anyone – except maybe Mary – and besides, he was already on his fourth glass of wine.

“Sometimes I’m jealous of people who don’t work from home,” Remus remarked, “hearing about stuff like that. I’d love to have work mates.”

Sirius tilted his head. “Oh yeah, you run that book blog, don’t you? Do you not get to meet, I dunno, book people?”

Remus shrugged, placing a forkful of his dessert – a rich cherry and chocolate cake soaked in liqueur – in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed. “Not in person – usually just by email, or over Skype if I’m lucky. It’s usually just me at home reading.”

“Sounds lonely,” Sirius frowned, chewing on his own dessert as he spoke, “are your housemates nice though?”

Remus’s stomach knot gave an uncomfortable tug, as if to remind him that it had not gone away. The rational part of his brain  _ really _ didn’t want to talk to Sirius about Frank. Something niggling in the back of his mind told him that it would be better to keep them separate. He decided to be as vague as he possibly could. “I live with three people, I only really know two of them but even then, we don’t, like, hang out or anything.”

Sirius nodded. “I live with three people as well, I hate it. Can’t wait until my art takes off and I can move to a fancy apartment like Prongs.”

Remus could have sighed with relief. Sirius hadn’t pressed on the subject, thank god, and had offered up a chance for Remus to change the subject without even noticing. It felt like a miracle.

“Where is James, anyway?” Remus asked, sipping his dessert wine. Sirius frowned, shaking his head.

“Not sure – probably working late. He might be coming tomorrow, I haven’t asked.”

Remus’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t been texting this week, then?”

“Nah,” Sirius sighed, raising his shoulders up to his ears and giving Remus a weak smile, “he’s been really stressed this week – he finds bread really difficult. He goes all ‘old general’ when he’s stressing; ended up telling me to leave him alone so I’m just waiting for him to get in touch with me.” There was a sad look in his eyes, but he gave Remus a smile at the end of his sentence, trying to mask it. 

Remus returned the smile, not wanting to let on that anything was amiss. He hoped that the friendship the three of them had developed over the last two weeks wouldn’t be falling apart already. The show was better when they all got on.

“I’m sorry, hopefully it’s just bread week.” Remus said, raiding his glass in Sirius’s direction, “hell, I was on the brink of a breakdown all week.”

“Really?”

Remus shrugged. “I struggle a lot because of my fibro.” 

_ Shit. Shit  _ _ shit _ _ shit. _

Remus hadn’t meant to tell Sirius that. He didn’t want to tell  _ anyone _ that. 

He really ought to stop drinking so much wine.

Sirius inclined his head, his expression difficult to read. “Shit, man, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Remus felt his heart begin to speed up. He really didn’t want pity. It wasn’t something that he was ashamed of, per say, he just  _ hated _ people’s false sympathy. He didn’t want people to apologise to him for something that was a part of his identity. It wasn’t something that anyone needed to be sorry for, it was just a part of who he was.

“It’s fine, it’s nothing, forget I ever mentioned it.” Remus waved a hand dismissively, “I don’t want people to know.”

Sirius picked up his wine glass again, trying to catch Remus’s eye, but Remus looked down determinedly at the tablecloth. Sirius pressed on. “Well, I won’t tell anyone, you don’t need to worry about me.” He took a sip of his drink before placing it back down on the table. “And if you ever want to talk about it, if you’re frustrated or whatever, you’ve got someone now, okay?”

There he went again, being so  _ nice _ . It just made Remus feel even more guilty. 

Remus chose not to even address what Sirius had said. Talking about his disability made him extremely uncomfortable, especially in as public a place as they were in at that moment. He looked up at Sirius’s face but avoided his eyes. 

“My housemate actually helped me with my practicing this week.” Fuck it – he needed a subject change. The knot in his stomach jolted angrily. Remus pressed on. “It was really  nice; I’ve never really spoken to him before but we get on.”

Remus saw the look of concern on Sirius’s face stick for a moment, before he switched it effortlessly to a smile. “That’s good! It’s always  shit when you live with people you don’t like. Is he a baker too?”

Remus shook his  head; the wine was getting to him. He was teetering on the edge of self-sabotage, and he could feel  himself about to jump headfirst.

“Nah, he doesn’t know shit about the process, he just likes to eat what I make,”  _ fuck it _ , “and I think he fancies me so he’s been very willing to help.”

Sirius’s eyebrows shot up, and his hand went to his wine glass. He raised it to his lips and took a sip quickly, his expression very hard to read. Remus felt sick, but also triumphant. There was nothing Drunk Remus loved more than fucking up his entire life. His rational brain was screaming at him somewhere in the distance. Remus drowned it out by downing the last of his glass.

Sirius gave a shaky laugh. “Probably can’t trust his reviews, then.”

Remus shrugged, putting his wine glass down and scooping the last forkful of his cake into his mouth. The atmosphere at their table had dropped somewhat, a frosty air settling over them that was entirely of Remus’s own making. He knew he was going to regret this in the morning, but in the  moment, he just couldn’t stop himself.

“You know what they say, though,” Sirius said warningly, raising his glass at Remus, “don’t shit where you eat.”

Remus shook his head. “I’m not fucking him, just making him knead my dough for me.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Sirius barked a laugh again, a single eyebrow raised. He downed the last of his wine, tilting his head back and stretching out his neck. Remus’s sloppy eyes trailed down it, taking in the rough stubble and the hint of a silver chain barely visible under the neckline of his black button-up shirt. The rational part of Remus’s mind told him he was getting messy, and it was time to go to bed, but he pushed it back again.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Remus leaned forward, his elbow on the table and chin resting in his palm. He smirked at Sirius, who looked as if he had almost choked on his last gulp of wine.

Sirius put down his glass and gave an uneasy laugh, scratching the back of his head with his left hand. “ _ You _ , my friend, are drunk.”

Remus scoffed, “look who’s talking.”

“ _ I _ can hold my alcohol, unlike some people.” Sirius raised an eyebrow. His eyes lingered on Remus’s for a few moments, and Sirius licked his lips uneasily, before breaking their contact by turning to look behind him. He waved a waiter over and asked for their bill, only to be informed that their meal had been paid for by the production company. Remus felt like he could get used to this kind of life.

“Come on, Remus, I think you might need to go to bed.” Sirius laughed again, shaking his head as he pushed himself up and out of his seat. Remus followed suit, pushing his chair back under the table and smoothing his hands on his jeans. He was giggling. This whole situation was  _ so stupid _ . Sirius sighed as Remus sidled up next to him. “You’re such a lightweight, anyone would think you’d been downing moonshine, not wine.”

They left the restaurant and headed towards the lifts. A quick glance at the reception’s wall clock told Remus it was eleven at night. 

“ _ Fuck _ , I’m going to feel awful tomorrow.” Remus mumbled, a sudden wave of regret hitting him, the  memory of Lucius telling them they had to be up and ready by seven thirty the next morning slapping him in the face.

Sirius laughed softly next to him as they waited for the lift to arrive, the reception quiet and empty, the orange light of the wall lamps falling over his features. It was a quiet sort of laugh that Remus had not heard the likes of from Sirius before. Something warm and delicate, something just for Remus. Sirius glanced up at Remus and their eyes caught for a moment. Sirius smiled, crooked and perfect in the dim evening. 

“You’re going to be fine, Moony.”

***

It turned out that being hungover did not miraculously improve Remus’s ability to make bread, quite the opposite in fact. His rye bread rolls had been decent, not good, but definitely not the worst of the group. Marlene’s had been absolutely ripped apart by McGonagall, who had cut one in half and stuck her finger in it, showing the cameras and the entire nation that it was completely raw in the middle. 

Remus felt like getting told his were under-kneaded and underproved was an achievement compared to that.

Sirius had received his first McGonagall handshake for his sourdough rye rolls, which had been completely identical and ridiculously delicious. Remus had tried one in their break between the signature and technical tasks – it had been even better than the one he had been posted mid-week. 

Sirius was acting strangely around Remus in the tent, not making the same usual friendly banter during their breaks, and he did not hang around and wait for Remus to finish filming his confessionals. Instead, he had been focussing his energy on talking to James, who was possibly the most stressed out of everyone in the tent, despite his bread rolls being praised by the judges. 

James was muttering under his breath at the bench across from Remus’s throughout the tasks, talking himself through every step several times and giving himself little pep talks. It seemed like he was so focussed, in fact, that he had even forgotten that Lily existed. She had breezed through the  signature; her rye rolls being described by Dumbledore as delightful.

For the technical, they had been given three hours to make ciabatta bread. It needed to have a thin crust and a light texture, and they had been given approximately one third of the  number of instructions that Remus would have felt confident with. He struggled through it, achieving eighth place out of ten in the rankings, better only than Severus Snape and Marlene, who had both also been struggling with bread as a concept.

The ciabatta, at least, had not required kneading. It was perfectly fine being mixed in an electric mixer, meaning that Remus’s shoulders got a rest for the afternoon. As the dough was proving he had hung around with Lily and Peter, chatting idly about their weeks and their plans for next weekend. It seemed a pretty sure thing that Lily and Peter would be going through; their rolls had been amazing and both of them were very confident with ciabatta loaves, it was only Remus who seemed to be in danger. Severus had not been with them, having left the tent – as they had been allowed during their proving time – without telling them why.

The day ended with Remus feeling bitter at his failure, but happy that he was not the worst out of all the bakers, at least. He had filmed some awkward confessionals talking about how nervous he had been, and how difficult he had found bread, and how he hoped that his showstopper would save him. Really, he just wanted to go back up to his hotel room and nap. He felt terrible that everyone in the country was going to see him failing at something. He had been working so hard all week with Frank and for what? To come eighth? It was embarrassing.

James caught up with him as he trudged back up the lawn to the hotel, his hands in his pockets and his eyes firmly trained on the sun-dried ground. The air was dry and hot, and the sun was still bright in the sky despite it being the evening. Remus wasn’t the biggest fan of the summer. He could feel the heat on his exposed arms burning him. He needed to remember  sun cream tomorrow.

“I fucking hate bread.” James announced his presence loudly, his voice bitter.

Remus scoffed. “At least you’re definitely going through to next week already.” He hadn’t meant to sound quite as  venomous as he had, but it was too late now. James laughed.

“Don’t speak so soon, Moony.” Apparently, Sirius’s joking nickname from last night had caught on. “I’ve never not fucked up my showstopper design.”

“You’ll breeze through it, you always do,” Remus shook his head, but looked across at James with a sympathetic smile, “I know what you mean, though. This week has put the fear of god in me, truth be told.”

James raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say? Would never have known.”

“Did Sirius tell you about last night?” Remus asked, deadpan. Clearly, they had been gossiping while they had been catching up.

James nodded solemnly. “Padfoot said you overdid it a bit – not that I blame you. I’ve been acting a right tit all week.” James shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. Remus felt the now-familiar tug in his stomach that reminded him that  really, he ought to be feeling embarrassed too.

They had reached the hotel doors and Remus let James hold one open for him, slipping through and hanging back in the lobby for the other man to join him. They headed over to the lifts and Remus pressed the call button, shifting a little on the spot uncomfortably.

“Sirius isn’t angry at me, is he?” Remus asked finally, as the lift ‘ ding’ed and the doors slid open. They got inside and pressed the button for the third floor, Remus avoiding looking at James’s face for fear of his expression.

James laughed. “’Course not, he gets it, he thought you were pretty funny. We all act like arseholes when we’re scared,” James gestured to himself abstractly, “we’re not taught how to express emotions like that.”

Remus nodded, not really feeling that much better. Last night was a bit of a haze, he could remember telling Sirius about his fibromyalgia and about flirting with Frank, but he couldn’t remember much around that, especially not Sirius’s reactions. He hoped to god that he hadn’t flirted with Sirius. He wasn’t sure he could live with that thought.

“I suppose you’re right.” Remus sighed. He had a massive headache. “I need to nap; I’ll meet everyone downstairs for dinner later.”

Remus found, once he had gotten back to his hotel room and gotten into bed, that he could not sleep at all. His body ached from being on his feet all day, and his head was pounding from a combination of last night’s overindulgence and his chronic illness. He spent the next two hours lying in the dark staring up at the ceiling, cursing himself for his own behaviour.  _ God _ , he was a dick.

If Sirius had ever thought he might like Remus before, he must hate him now.

The alarm on his phone blared out through the black, taunting Remus and his lack of sleep. It had, at least, been good to lie down for that long, and Remus was thankful for the rest, however he felt like he would have to have an early night compared to all of the other contestants, especially after staying up so late the night before.

He changed into something appropriate for the formal restaurant – an old baggy button up shirt and a pair of corduroy trousers. His hair was messy from tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, but he didn’t attempt to comb it, just ran his fingers through it roughly. He looked acceptable, though the concealer under his eyes had gotten patchy and smudged on his pillows. 

The other bakers met him down in the reception area, where they were hanging around by the restaurant entrance. Remus automatically headed for James and Sirius, but found himself pulled aside by Lily, who insisted that he sit with her, Peter and Snape. Remus didn’t mind this so much – though Severus was definitely a repulsive arsehole, always putting Lily down in a way that came across very much as an attempt to neg her. All of the bakers were sitting around one table, so it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t be able to chat to the others too.

Kingsley  Shacklebolt , an incredibly handsome man with strong cheekbones and rich, dark skin, was recounting a story about the time he had taken part in a village baking competition by faking his address when James interrupted by promptly vomiting all over the table. Everyone jumped back in shock and disgust, wooden chairs scraping angrily across the stone floor, and several of the bakers cried out. James looked  _ terrible _ , his skin washed out and his eyes glazed over. 

Sirius was the only one who hadn’t moved, and placed a hand on James’s back comfortingly.

“Come on, mate, let’s get you to the doctor.”

Sirius helped James up with assistance from a concerned waiter, and the two of them half-carried James out of the restaurant. Remus followed them with his eyes, wondering whether it was his place to go with them. Yes, he and James were friends, but it wasn’t as if he had known him anywhere near as long as Sirius had. Regardless, he didn’t think that James would want to be too crowded, given what had just happened. 

Remus dragged his eyes back round to his companions, who were murmuring in smaller groups about what had just happened. Lily was looking concernedly at the door, tapping her thumb and forefinger against each other quickly. Snape was looking that way too, though he was wearing a smirk.

Remus narrowed his eyes. There was something very suspicious about Severus Snape. Remus just hoped that it wasn’t going to cost any of his friends their place in the  competition .


	4. Desserts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for panic attacks in this chapter.

“Not to speculate or anything,” Sirius said under his breath, slipping into the seat across from Remus at his lonely breakfast table the next morning, “but I have some theories. And by  that, I mean just one theory.”

Remus had been enjoying a quiet breakfast at a small table in the far corner of the hotel restaurant, munching through roughly half of the free buffet available to them. The events of the previous night had set the bakers abuzz – gossiping and speculating about what would happen to James. If he was sick, he would have to leave the competition, which was a huge shame. James had been one of the front-runners, Remus had expected him to win, so his loss in week three would be a shock – but not entirely unwelcome. No one had heard anything from the producers or from James himself, and only Sirius had gone with him to get assistance.

As far as Remus was aware, this moment was the first time anyone had seen Sirius since last night.

Remus picked up his toast – spread with lemon curd – and took a bite, fixing Sirius with a quirked eyebrow. “I would never speculate about anything,” he placed the toast down on his plate and brushed his hands together to clear them of crumbs, “but I  _ also _ have a theory.”

Sirius smirked, reaching across the table and picking up a blueberry muffin from Remus’s plate. He tutted, but Sirius waved a hand dismissively before peeling off the case as he spoke.

“Prongs is fine, he had an allergic reaction to something in his food. It’s weird, though, because the only thing he’s allergic to is oysters and there weren’t any in what he ordered.” Sirius chewed on his muffin as he spoke, holding the cake in front of his mouth to spare Remus the image of crumbs spraying. “But that got me thinking – what if it was sabotage?”

Remus inclined his head, the two of them still speaking in lowered voices. “I’m listening?”

“The producers have lists of all our dietary requirements, allergies, all that shit. What if someone went looking for it and poisoned Prongs on purpose?”

Remus felt extremely relieved that he wasn’t the only one who had come to this conclusion. It was entirely possible, of course, that there could just have been some sort of cross-contamination issue, but Remus felt there was more to it than the other bakers had assumed. He decided to tell Sirius about what he had seen the night before.

“Snape was smiling after it happened. He didn’t look shocked like everyone else.” Remus glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Lily and Snape’s table, making sure that they were definitely out of earshot. 

Sirius hissed at him across the table. “ _ Don’t _ look at him – he'll know we know.” Sirius reached out again and gripped Remus’s forearm, digging his fingers into Remus’s skin. Remus found his eyes trained on the contact immediately, and he felt that smile play on his lips again, but he fought it back. Some things were more important than his stupid crush on Sirius, like their friend being  _ actually poisoned _ . Sirius shook his head, releasing his grip on Remus’s arm. “That’s good to hear, though, because I had assumed it was him.”

Remus nodded. This was the conclusion that he had come to as well. “It adds up, he was really angry about that notebook last week.”

“Which we had absolutely nothing to do with, I would like to add.” Sirius raised a finger, pointing up at the ceiling, before going back to his muffin, taking another bite. Remus still wasn’t one hundred percent sure that this was true, he thought that Severus must have had  _ something _ to found his theory on, but he didn’t want to get into an argument with Sirius – not after he had so thoroughly embarrassed himself at dinner only two nights ago.

“He  _ thinks _ you did, though.” Remus picked up the toast again, holding it up to his lips. “Do you think he’s capable of it? You know, figuring out the allergies and somehow getting it in his food?” He took a bite and lowered his hand again so that the toast was hovering over his plate.

Sirius frowned for a few moments, chewing thoughtfully on his muffin. He held Remus’s gaze as he did so, cool gunmetal grey boring into his own brown eyes. Remus found that he couldn’t keep the eye contact for too long, something about it felt far too intense. Especially for  breakfast time .

“I  dunno – make sure you’re keeping an eye out.” Sirius leant back in his seat, throwing an arm over the back and looking out of the window beside them dramatically, tossing his long hair back over his shoulder. Remus found his eyes training on his neck again, and looked back down at his toast quickly, fighting that smile again, feeling the guilty knot on his stomach jolt. Sirius didn’t seem to notice him looking, and dragged his eyes back over to Remus lazily. “James is still in, by the way. He’s not baking today, but they said he’ll be fine to come back next week.”

“Don’t they usually send people home if they get sick?” Remus frowned, taking another bite of toast.

Sirius shook his head. “He did so well yesterday the judges have decided to keep him in – I think McGonagall really likes him, the jammy bastard.” Sirius clearly thought this was unfair – Remus suspected he had also been hoping for their biggest competition to have been sent home. Admittedly, it would have been completely unjust for James, seeing as all evidence currently pointed toward him being sabotaged, but at this point it seemed like outside intervention could be their only hope at a win. James was too good.

“That’s good for him, though.” Remus said, picking up his mug of milky tea in his free hand and taking a long sip, watching Sirius over the rim. Sirius raised his eyebrows and smiled in agreement. Remus placed the mug back down on the tablecloth. “Are you going to get some breakfast or were you just planning on eating mine?” He asked, deciding to change the subject. He didn’t want for this to become a full-blown conspiracy.

Sirius laughed, his short bark-like laugh that came out like a gunshot, and smiled at Remus, showing off his perfect teeth. “Oh, I get it,” he stood up, stretching his arms up above his head, “sick of me, are you?”

Remus laughed, shaking his head. As if  _ that _ would ever be true. “No, you bastard, just sick of watching you eat my blueberry muffin. If you go over to the  buffet, I want a replacement.” 

Sirius gave him a mock salute before heading off in the direction of the buffet table, throwing Remus a crooked, toothy grin as he went. Remus finally allowed that smile to bleed over his face, his cheeks feeling hot. He would allow himself a good thirty seconds of embarrassing teenage-style crushing, and then get back to the regularly scheduled repression just in time to head over to the make-up trailer.

***

“How’s it going?”

Fabian Prewett was hovering by Remus as he folded gouda and garlic into his bread dough, peeking over his shoulder as a gigantic television camera loomed in their faces, capturing every second of Remus’s bread-related struggles. Remus looked up at Fabian, having learned by this point that he was not supposed to look into the camera to answer questions at any point. He shrugged.

“It’s going okay, considering.” 

Fabian let a smile play on his handsome features, leaning down against Remus’s workbench and propping his chin on his fist. “ So, you would say it’s going pretty  _ gouda _ ?”

Remus groaned loudly, playing it up a little for the camera. He rolled his eyes and let them land lazily on Fabian. “Personally, I would never say that, but only because I’ve been reliably informed that I’m funny.”

Fabian threw his head back and laughed – Remus felt triumphant. He was hoping that he could keep his cool directly in front of the cameras and come across as a likeable enough person that the public would get behind him when the show was eventually broadcast. It was a lot of pressure, trying to supress his natural first instinct of being a sarcastic dick, though sometimes it worked out for him – like now.

The cameras and presenter moved on to harass Pomona Sprout, leaving Remus to pour out his dough and start to knead it. He set a timer for ten minutes and told himself he  _ had _ to get through it, this bread  _ had _ to be perfect if he was going to get through to the next week. It was tough, and he felt like his arms were going to fall off by the end of it, but he managed to get it done. The dough looked pretty decent by the time he had slid it into the proving drawer.

Remus had an hour to kill, so made himself a cup of tea and sat himself down on a stool by his bench, looking around at the other bakers. Most of them were in the same position as him, sitting around waiting for their dough to prove and taking the opportunity to relax. Sirius was kneading a second type of dough – he had decided to be extra ambitious and make two breads to form his lion centrepiece – and was throwing it down repeatedly on his counter with more strength than Remus would have expected. His black dog tattoo was peeking out from under the sleeve of his vintage AC/DC t-shirt, and he had tied his hair back to keep it out of his eyes. 

Remus had to look away before he blushed again.

Once all the bakers were at the same stage, the cameras were turned off and they were given a half hour break to leave the tent, which was extremely welcome. The weather was getting hotter, the sun beating down and the heat getting trapped under the plastic, baking the contestants just as much as their creations. Remus laid out on the hardened ground and spread his arms out, feeling the sun soak into his skin. He  _ really _ hated hot weather, it made him feel even more sluggish than usual, and he felt almost as if he could fall asleep at any moment.

He heard someone drop down onto the ground next to him, reclining against the grass, and opened one eye, squinting in the bright direct light. It was Lily, and she stretched out her arms above her head before setting them under her neck, crossing her legs at the ankles.

“Alright, mate?” Lily asked, closing her eyes, a contented smile on her face. 

Remus went back to his previous position – eyes closed, face toward the sky. “I won’t lie to you, I’m pretty sure I’m going home this week.” 

Lily tutted loudly, and Remus felt a hand bat him on the shoulder. “Shut up – you  _ know _ Marlene has been worse than you all weekend.” 

Remus felt his stomach twist – he felt bad thinking that one of the contestants he’d been friendly with could be going home. Would that be worse than him leaving? He supposed it might be, because at least his own failure didn’t also carry with it a sense of guilt. He shook his head, though he knew that Lily couldn’t see him, and rubbed his face with his hands, palms slick with sweat.

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” Remus mumbled, thinking forlornly of his dough proving in the tent. Once they were back in  there, he would have two hours to shape and bake it, before his fate was truly sealed. He was pretty terrified, if he was honest.

He heard Lily roll over onto her side. “What I’m  _ saying _ is that you can’t give up already, you’ve still got a decent chance at getting through to next week.”

Remus hummed a response, noncommittal. Lily did not continue, but he heard her roll back with a soft thud. The sound of another person flopping down next to Remus caused him to open his eyes again, watching as Peter arranged himself in a way that felt comfortable, sitting upright as opposed to lying with the two of them.

“You’re smashing it this weekend, Evans.” Peter said warmly, smiling down at Lily. His expression changed a little as he lingered on Remus’s face – more like a grimace than anything else. “Uh, good work, too, Remus.”

Remus closed his eyes again, pressing his lips together in a flat line. The sick feeling in his stomach only increased.

Lily’s bright voice came from Remus’s other side. “Aw, thanks, Pete! ‘Nothing better than bread, is there?”

Remus huffed. He could think of a lot of things he liked better than bread nowadays – Wales being a part of the UK, Tories, his homophobic dad. Yes, bread truly was the bottom of the barrel now. 

“Cheer up, Remus,” Peter said nervously, patting Remus on the shoulder in a way that Remus supposed he must have thought was comforting, “you just have to be not-the-worst.”

“That’s proving to be harder than I’d thought.” Remus muttered bitterly, crossing his arms across his David Bowie T-shirt. He was acting like a petulant teenager – but then a lot of his behaviour had reverted back to teenage this week. He realised he was sulking, and his friends probably thought he was pretty pathetic, but he couldn’t help it – he felt awful. 

The producers called them back into the tent and the bakers filed back in one-by-one. The cameras were turned back on and the chaos continued, it was all Remus could manage not to start to panic. He took out his proved dough – which had doubled in size – and knocked it back before cutting it into the appropriate sizes for each part of his centrepiece.

As he slid the tray into the oven 45 minutes later, he just prayed that he had done enough to stay in the competition. They had been allowed another break while their bread was baking, but Remus really didn’t feel like speaking to anyone. He felt like he would be sick if he even dared to open his mouth. If the flowers warped again, or he had got his flavours wrong, or all the cheese just melted out he was screwed, and everything he had been working for the past year would have been for nothing. 

The judging was harsh. Remus stood trembling at his workbench as he watched McGonagall and Dumbledore scrutinise everyone’s sculptures, pointing out every little flaw and mistake.  Lily’s had been underproved, Marlene’s was raw, and Pomona’s was not flavoured well enough. Sirius was just about the only baker who didn’t receive any negative comments, and was instead rewarded with his second handshake of the weekend. He looked as if he was about to cry.

“I think that’s possibly the best thing we’ve ever seen on  _ Bake Off _ .” McGonagall said, gesturing to the bread lion that Sirius had presented. She was right, of course, it was breath-taking – two types of break making up the face and grand mane of the beast, flavoured with tomato and olives. After the judging, Remus had tried it and had felt as if he could  _ cry _ it was so delicious. Sirius definitely deserved to win star baker for that week.

When Remus was called up, he gripped his tray with shaky hands, carrying his bread bouquet and feeling only mild all-consuming anxiety that he would trip and drop it all over the floor. The judges inspected it from every angle – McGonagall praising his braiding work – before slicing into it, directly down the middle. McGonagall stuck a finger into the very centre of the sculpture, tutting quietly.

“Could have done with a few more minutes in the oven,” She said sternly, causing Remus’s stomach to flip, “that’s the issue with having such a big centrepiece.”

She and Dumbledore both cut themselves pieces from the edge, where it was cooked to perfection, and ate them. The five seconds it took them to chew and swallow felt like an entire lifetime. Remus thought he might die of old age before they got around to telling him what they thought. The rest of the  bakers' eyes burned into the back of his head, and the bug-eyes of the cameras were trained on his expression. He did not trust himself to move, Remus felt as if he was going to throw up.

McGonagall gave Remus a small, wry smile. “That’s delicious.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Absolutely marvellous,” his blue eyes sparkling under the hot studio lighting, “you have redeemed yourself, my boy.”

Remus felt as if he could fly. He let out the breath he did not realise he had been  holding , and a smile cracked over his face. Finally, just one thing in the godforsaken weekend had gone right. He felt every muscle in his body relax, and nodded to the judges.

“Thank you so much.”

McGonagall continued with the judging. “The flavour balance you’ve achieved is wonderful and the texture is lovely – you've  definitely improved from yesterday. Still, a little underbaked, but I have to admit it is  _ lovely _ .”

Remus was barely listening. All he could hear was ‘you’re not going home’ over and over again. Elated, he retrieved his bread from the front of the tent and went back to his workbench, and thoroughly enjoyed watching Snape’s bread cauldron be ripped to shreds.

***

Marlene was sent home at the end of bread week, and Sirius had been crowned victorious. Remus was left to fight another week, all thoughts of bread behind him.

The majority of the bakers left that evening as usual, only Sirius, Remus and Marlene and Dorcas staying overnight for trains in the morning. Dorcas seemed absolutely devastated that Marlene was leaving, even  more so than Marlene, who seemed to have been expecting it.

“Yeah, like I said, I just really can’t hack bread,” she was explaining over dinner, “I would have  _ killed _ desserts week, though, you’re all missing out.”

Sirius raised his wine glass to her. “Well, you’re just going to have to make us a baked Alaska some other time.” Sirius grinned at her, and Marlene laughed. “When the series is over, we need to have the biggest dinner party ever.”

Dorcas inclined her head, her own wine glass waiting by her lips. “A dinner party that turns into an absolute  rager , right?”

Sirius winked. “That goes without saying.”

Marlene and Dorcas seemed to have thrown all efforts to conceal their relationship away since the announcement of Marlene’s departure from the competition. They had been holding hands  _ on top _ of the table this time, and Marlene kept leaning over at intervals to whisper in Dorcas’s ear, or to give her soft kisses on the cheek. Remus would have thought it was sweet, if he wasn’t so jealous. Just sitting opposite them with Sirius by his side made his chest ache. He would have given anything to be able to do the same thing with the man next to him, but he knew that was ridiculous.

He  _ really _ needed to get over this.

They stayed up until the early hours, laughing and drinking and making plans for the future. It was made  _ very _ clear to Marlene that she was still included in any and all of their plans, despite being absent from the next six weekends, and she seemed very grateful for this. She seemed pretty happy to be out of the competition too, telling them multiple times that she felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She seemed pretty happy to be able to go back to her usual training schedule, too.

Remus fell into bed at two in the morning, exhausted from his day on his feet but happier than he had felt in a while. He  _ really  _ liked Dorcas and Marlene, and his feelings toward Sirius went without saying. He didn’t mind hanging out with the other bakers, but there was something about spending time with other queer people his age – it was how he felt around Frank, too. It was a feeling of safety and familiarity, a feeling of family. He knew he could be one hundred percent himself, that he didn’t need to hide parts of his personality to make people around him more comfortable. He was really sad to see Marlene go.

They sat together for breakfast too, pretty late in the morning considering how they had spent the night. There was a teary goodbye as Marlene got into her taxi – her and Dorcas clinging to each other as if they would never see one another again, despite the fact they would probably be on the phone in about half an hour. Marlene had hugged Remus – something that did not happen to him very often – and he had been shocked. She squeezed him tightly, her strong arms around his middle, and he wrapped his own around her shoulders hesitantly. 

Remus always hugged people as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do – like he had never done it before and was afraid he would get it wrong. Sirius, of course, hugged as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He scooped Marlene up into his arms and picked her up, his face in her blond hair, making her laugh and slap him on the back, demanding to be put down but smiling all the same. They waved her off as her taxi pulled away, their group of four down to three.

It wasn’t long before Remus was in his own taxi, heading back to the train station in the early afternoon. Dorcas had hugged him goodbye as well; soft and warm, rubbing a comforting hand on his back in a manner that made him realise that maybe he actually  _ had  _ needed to be comforted. He was deeply sad about Marlene going home, and both physically and mentally exhausted after the weekend’s activities. He wanted to get back home as soon as possible and go straight to bed, but he knew that he needed to start practicing for next week. If he dropped his  momentum, he could lose it entirely and crash out – he really didn’t want that to happen.

Sirius had said goodbye to Remus witch a friendly smack on the shoulder – Remus had noted that he really needed to ask people to stop doing that – and a ruffle of his hair. There was something strange about the way he was standing and the awkward way he was swinging his arms, but Remus didn’t want to read too much into it – had he wanted to hug Remus too? Why didn’t he? He had hugged everyone else. Maybe this was more evidence that Sirius had a crush on him – but maybe it was just Remus’s wishful thinking. 

Remus assumed it was the latter, and slid into the taxi, pulling the door shut behind him.

He hadn’t gotten his review finished on time, so he pulled his laptop out of his backpack and opened it on his lap, staring at the blank screen in front of him. He had read the book, but he could barely remember any of the emotions it had made him feel while he was reading because the competition had had him on high alert all weekend. He took out his notebook and consulted it, but found his notes very matter-of-fact, nothing about whether or not he had enjoyed a particular scene or event, just outlining the story beats. He cursed his past self as he scanned the notes, and realised he could barely remember even reading about the events he had outlined.

He slammed the laptop shut and stuffed it and the notebook back into his backpack angrily – he would just have to go without an update today. Maybe he could scramble together a recipe post with something he hadn’t published before? He rubbed his face with his hands and groaned. This was all getting to be far too much for him.

***

Frank greeted Remus by his bedroom door again as he arrived home, a grin on his round face. He was actually wearing a shirt this week - an old white vest that showed off his tawny arms – and his hair had been freshly buzzed. He leaned against the doorframe, his tongue between his crooked teeth, and folded his arms across his chest.

“So,” he raised his eyebrows quickly, “desserts?”

Remus gave an overdramatic sigh and made a show of rolling his eyes, exaggerating the action so that it somehow involved his whole head. His eyes fell on Frank again after their detour to the ceiling, and he raised the corner of his mouth into a  disapproving smirk.

“Yes,” Remus nodded, “desserts.”

Frank practically leapt on Remus, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him down to his level in celebration, laughing almost in disbelief. “ _ Mate _ !” 

Remus didn’t know what to do with his hands. Did he hug Frank back? Something about this felt dangerous. Frank pulled back almost immediately upon feeling Remus tense.

“Sorry, I forget not everyone’s a hugger.” He held his hands up and took a step back toward his bedroom door, leaving a little space between them in the hallway. “I’m just so excited for you! You said bread was what you struggled with the most, right? The rest of the show is  gonna be a piece of piss.”

Remus gave a short, harsh laugh. He felt sluggish and run down after the travelling – not to mention the weekend that he’d had – and his confidence had dropped back down to rock bottom. “The whole point is that it gets harder every week, Frank.” Remus kicked off his shoes and bent down to pick them up, his back screaming at him.

“Are you okay, pal?” Frank must have seen him wincing. 

Remus nodded, waving a dismissive hand as he straightened up, throwing his shoes onto the organiser and picking up his suitcase. He gave Frank a partially sincere smile – he did appreciate his friend’s words of encouragement and pride, but he also felt like he would rather lie face down on his bed than be stood upright at that very moment. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” Remus pointed up the stairs. “I think I’m going to go have a nap though – I'm a bit hungover, truth be told.”

It wasn’t  _ exactly _ a lie – his fatigue had definitely been emphasised by the entire bottle of wine he had drunk the night before – but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Remus made his way up the stairs slowly as Frank returned to his own room after only a knowing look and a “you know where I am if you need me.”

He collapsed onto his bed almost immediately, not even waiting for the heavy fire door to slam shut behind him. The suitcase was discarded by his bedside table and it lay unpacked for the remainder of the day – and would be left, forgotten, until the weekend. Once his body made contact with the mattress, Remus knew that he would likely stay that way all week. He’d overdone it. He’d burned himself out.

Well, he supposed, it was inevitable.

How he was supposed to get any practice done for the next week he had no idea. These flare ups came and went almost at random, but he felt pretty sure this one wasn’t going to die back anytime soon. Remus cursed himself for not considering this as an outcome – he had been so afraid of it actually happening he had pushed it to the back of his mind, somewhere he couldn’t even access it. 

_ God _ , he wanted to cry. He was fucking  _ exhausted _ .

He closed his eyes, groaning pathetically at his own inadequacy, and let himself drift off into a fitful sleep, full of dreams of baked  alaskas and roulades that kept going wrong. 

As the week progressed, his health did not get much better. On Tuesday he was subsiding mainly on toast with no toppings – even putting it in the toaster had felt like a bit too much effort, if he was really honest – looking mournfully at his recipe notebook lying on the dining table as he chewed. Frank had popped in a couple of times to speak to him, and had commented on how rough Remus had looked, but he had brushed him off. When Frank asked if he was practicing that day Remus just waved a hand and told him he was feeling fairly confident that week, and to not expect any extra food.

He had expected that to get rid of Frank, but he just kept hanging around, offering to get Remus Deliveroo or to make him some soup. Every time Remus said no Frank just frowned, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. By Thursday he stopped trying.

On Friday Remus miraculously woke up with spoons – though not many – and he feared it may have been too little, too late. The train would be taking him to Newbury at four in the afternoon, and he had neglected to set an alarm which had meant that he had only woken up at ten. Six hours to practice a whole weekend’s worth of the most important baked goods in his life? Remus was fucked.

If he was lucky and he didn’t crash out again, he could make his roulade in less than an hour. That would leave him enough time to at least practice the cakes for his baked  alaska , though he had absolutely no hope of trying to make a sorbet  _ and _ an ice cream from scratch. He pulled himself out of bed and to the bathroom to shower for the first time since Monday, washing his greasy hair and instantly feeling at least ten percent better. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror – his eye bags were darker than ever – and straightened up his posture a little. He really needed to try and keep his shit together or he wouldn’t make it through to pastry week.

The weather was still disgustingly hot, which was not exactly helping his situation, so he pulled on a T-Rex shirt he had found at the charity shop near their house and a pair of jeans – he would not be caught dead in shorts, even if it was forty degrees outside. He rolled his shoulders a few times, feeling the joints click and trying to ignore the dull pain from the way he had been holding his arm in his sleep.

Frank had insisted on picking up groceries for Remus when he had done a big Tesco run earlier in the week, and had gotten him all of the ingredients he would need for a practice run “just in case”, clearly having sneaked a look in Remus’s recipe book while he was moping upstairs. Remus was grateful for it now, as he took the box of twelve eggs out of the fridge and placed it on the kitchen island, glancing back over his recipe to familiarise himself with it. He was making a chocolate and chestnut meringue roulade which had been delicious when he had first devised the recipe, but now just the thought of it made him feel sick. 

What had he been doing, lying in bed all week? He was so underprepared! How was he supposed to make this and present it to Albus  Dumbledore , the king of desserts, tomorrow without shame?

He tried to push down the panic, but he could feel it rising in his chest as he struggled to breathe. His arms went out to grip the edge of the counter in front of him and he took deep, shaky breaths, closing his eyes to stop the room from spinning. It wasn’t really working – he just wanted more  _ time;  _ he  _ needed _ more  _ time.  _ If his useless body could just  _ work properly _ for once everything would be fine. He just needed to get through the next six weeks at one hundred miles per hour and then he could slow down again. But that was never going to happen, was it? He was going to keep crashing like this every time he pushed too hard and even some times when he didn’t. It wasn’t  _ fair _ .

There were hot tears on his cheeks and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, hissing. What was the fucking point of crying or panicking about it? There was nothing he could do to change it. Fucking pathetic.

He jumped as the door opened, squeaking loudly, hand took in another sharp breath; eyes still closed, tears still flowing.

“Mate, are you okay?” It was Frank – of  _ course _ it was Frank. 

_ Do I  _ _ fucking _ _ look okay _ ? Remus wanted to say it, but he was worried that if he stopped focusing on breathing for a second, he would forget how to do it. He could barely even keep himself connected to his own body – he felt like his consciousness was just barely hanging on to his physical form by a thread. 

For  _ fuck’s  _ sake.

There was a warm hand on his cold back, steadying him, giving him something to anchor himself to. The hand guided him away from the island and towards the sofa, sitting him down before leaving him stranded again for a few short, agonising moments, before it was back, soft, on his knee.

Remus opened his eyes and saw that Frank was kneeling down in front of him, one hand on Remus’s knee, watching him witch concern.

“Breathe along with me – do you think you can?” Frank asked, his dark eyes big and  glassy . Remus thought about it for a few moments. Frank’s voice sounded far away, as if he was underwater. Remus nodded.

Frank took a deep breath in and Remus attempted to copy him, but his breaths kept getting hitched as he heaved in sobs.  _ Stupid _ . Frank continued to breathe in and out steadily, holding eye contact with Remus, keeping his hand firmly on Remus’s leg, a pool of warmth against his freezing skin. Remus was sweating. He was trying so hard to follow along with Frank’s breath, but it seemed helpless. This was just how he was going to be now, forever.

Until he wasn’t.

He managed to latch on to Frank’s rhythm, helped by his housemate brushing his thumb back and forth in time on Remus’s knee. The breaths were shaky, but they were deep and even, slowing down his thoughts and pulling himself back into his own head. They sat, staring at each other for what felt like hours but was more likely a few minutes, Remus gripping the sofa cushions so hard that his knuckles were white. 

He managed to compose himself and eventually let go, breaking the eye contact with Frank and looking down at his lap, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He sniffed, trying to clear out his nose, and cleared his throat. Frank’s hand on his knee now felt too heavy, too obvious, burning into him, reminding him of all the thoughts that he had been trying to avoid for the past two weeks. Remus shifted his knee a little and Frank took his hand back without saying anything. He was still tracking Remus’s face anxiously, a frown falling across his eyebrows.

Remus looked up again and met his eyes once more, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, that was embarrassing.”

Frank shook his head immediately. “No, don’t apologise, it’s not embarrassing. You’re doing something huge and scary right now, it’s completely valid to be anxious.”

Remus raised an eyebrow.  _ Valid _ . 

“What I  _ mean _ ,” He started, fixing Remus with a stern look, shifting so that he was sat on the coffee table instead of kneeling on the floor, "is that anyone else would be shitting themselves in your position. You are  _ allowed _ to feel things, Remus, especially if those things are bad.”

Remus could feel tears welling up in the corners of his eyes again and he wasn’t sure if he could keep them in. He wasn’t sure if he  _ needed _ to around Frank. He had just sat with Remus and watched him sob, tears and snot all over his face, for god knows how long. What difference would this make at this point?

Remus let himself cry for the first time in years, dropping his head into his hands and feeling the sobs rack his body. All the emotions he had been bottling, filing away for later... well, it was later now, and they were all being let out. He was terrified of everything that was happening in his life – being thrust into the public eye, having to meet new people and the mounting pressure to get on with them all but  _ not too well _ . His feelings for Sirius and how mixed up they were getting with his feelings for Frank, and how guilty he felt about even having feelings for either of them. The pressure to do well every weekend, and the crippling fear of failing and becoming a national laughing stock.  _ International _ laughing stock.

It had all gotten a bit too much.

Frank soothed him with a hand on his back, rubbing in small, comforting circles. Things felt good with Frank, Remus thought, he felt safe with him. Remus didn’t really know what to do with that information, it made the knot in his stomach jolt again. He sucked in a breath, closing his eyes and trying to steady himself, compose himself. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and sat up a little straighter, letting Frank lean back again. 

His housemate stood up and moved over to the island, grabbing the kitchen roll and bringing it back, ripping off a sheet and offering it to Remus, who took it gratefully and blew his nose.

“Sorry,” he said again through the tissue, “I’ve not had a good week.”

Frank raised his eyebrows, a smile creeping up one side of his mouth. “Really? I would never have guessed.”

Remus managed to pull himself together with time to spare to make a practice roulade, which did not turn out too badly, and share it with Frank. His housemate had stayed sat at the kitchen table, listening to Remus prattle on about  _ almost _ everything that had been on his mind as if he was his own personal therapist, which Remus had found  incredibly helpful. He knew he wasn’t supposed to keep all of his problems to himself, but it was so difficult now that Mary lived so far away – he had gotten so used to telling her everything, and now she was off teaching in Scotland she always seemed too busy for him to bother her.

Frank had been understanding, and had not made any comments outside of acknowledging Remus’s feelings and reminding him that it was okay to have them. Remus was almost surprised about this – it wasn’t that he had expected Frank to be an arsehole, but he just hadn’t expected this level of ‘knowing what to do’ from him. Frank had offhandedly mentioned being a welfare officer for his university’s LGBTQ+ association during undergrad but hadn’t elaborated, seemingly just letting Remus do the talking.

Remus explained to Frank about his anxiety and his fibro, and how he had not told any of the other bakers about either of those things. He explained about the pain in his shoulders and why bread week had made him so stressed. He confessed that he had overworked himself, and that he just hadn’t been able to hold off his fatigue any longer; and he explained how this had led to him panicking.

Frank had accepted a slice of roulade happily, taking the plate and spoon from Remus, their fingers brushing. He smiled up at Remus, no trace of pity or sympathy or any of the other things that Remus had been so afraid of seeing if he told anyone  about his feelings.

“I know I’ve already said this, but I really am proud of you,” Frank said, setting the plate down in front of him and breaking the roulade with his spoon, “you’re the bravest person I know.”

Remus pulled out the chair opposite him and collapsed into it, his own slice of dessert in front of him. “I would take that as a compliment, but I know the types of people you hang out with.”

Frank laughed, spooning roulade into his mouth and closing his eyes, moaning a loud ‘mm’. “Fuck me, mate, this is lush.”

Remus laughed. “You say everything I make is  _ lush _ .”

“I can’t help that you’re such a good baker, you prick.” Frank took a second spoonful as he spoke, using the loaded spoon to point at Remus’s face accusingly before putting it in his mouth. He chewed for a few moments, swallowed, and then spoke. “I think this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Remus quirked an eyebrow, allowing a smile to play on his lips. He felt a hundred pounds lighter. “Now  _ that _ I  _ will _ take as a compliment.”

Remus had gifted the rest of the roulade to Frank as a thank you for coaching him out of his panic attack, which Frank waved off but eventually accepted, if only to get Remus to finally leave on time for his train. Frank had given Remus his number “in case you need to talk about anything this weekend”, and Remus had tried not to blush. The knot in his stomach was still there, and the guilt was still lingering in the back of his mind though was, admittedly, becoming a lot less strong. He felt safe around Frank. He was a good friend. Why shouldn’t Remus have a little crush?

It wasn’t as if fucking Frank would ruin the dynamics of a national  television show. Not like a certain other crush Remus had.

_ God _ , Remus hadn’t thought about Sirius all week but then, as he sat in the back of a taxi on the way to the train station, now that Frank was behind him and he was on his way to Newbury, his mind was free to wander again. And wander it  _ did _ . Frank was nice, he felt comfortable, but Sirius really was something else entirely. Remus was almost afraid to look at him because he felt like Sirius could see directly into his soul. There was something about being near him that made Remus’s body feel like it was on fire – he was so hyper aware of himself around him. He kept going over that night, the last Friday, when they had been waiting for the lift. The look Sirius had given him. The quiet laugh. The laugh that was just for Remus. That smile.

Remus groaned, doubling over and dropping his head into his hands. His life was getting far too complicated for Remus’s taste. Frank felt like the obvious choice, the simple option, but Remus wasn’t quite sure if that was where his heart lay.

What did it matter, anyway? Sirius  _ definitely  _ didn’t like him after the way he acted last week, and Frank would probably never want to get mixed up with him after all his admissions that afternoon. It wasn’t as if Remus  _ had _ any options. Yet again, his mind was just racing ahead of itself.

He paid the taxi driver and headed out to get the first of his trains, dragging his suitcase behind him and trying to ignore the fact that his shoulder was aching again. The journey was short but exhausting, as usual, and Remus’s previous panic attack was still weighing down on his mind somewhat, making his niggling fear of missing his changes even worse than usual. By the time he met Lucius on the platform he felt like he could fall asleep on his feet, and he couldn’t even attempt to make conversation in the taxi. Lucius did not seem to mind this, and in fact seemed to be happy about it, chattering away on his phone to an unknown friend while Remus sat alone in the back of the car, head leaning against the door, struggling to keep his heavy eyelids open.

He went immediately to his room and collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to take his shoes off, crashing out of consciousness almost instantly as his head hit the pillow. He didn’t even get under the covers. His last thought before drifting off was the anxiety rearing its ugly head again, reminding him that he had an entire weekend of baking to get through, and that his reputation was, once again, on the line.

“Oi, Moony!”

He was jolted awake by a loud rapping on his hotel room door and the voice of Sirius calling from the hallway. Remus’s head felt like it was full of soup with cotton wool croutons, he could barely grasp what was going on. He hadn’t slept that hard in a long time, and his limbs felt heavy and his mind lost. He groaned, face down in the pillow, and turned his head to look at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was eight thirty – he had slept for two and a half hours. 

“Are you awake?” Sirius called again, quieter now as if he had realised his mistake. Remus groaned a little louder in response, and Sirius replied. “I just wondered if you wanted to get some dinner? Everyone else went down an hour ago, I figured I’d wait to see if you showed up. Didn’t want you to have to eat alone.”

Remus’s stomach growled angrily at that and he realised that he hadn’t eaten since midday. Dinner sounded good right now. Dinner with Sirius sounded  _ great _ right now, actually.

He dragged his head up off of the pillow and pushed himself up into a sitting position, clearing his throat before calling out.

“Sounds good, give me a second and I’ll come unlock the door.”

It took him a moment to gather himself, but he got to his feet and padded over to the door, pushing down the heavy handle so that the lock clicked and pulling the door towards him. Sirius was wearing a vintage Monsters of Rock t-shirt from the 80s, and the jeans he wore were ripped, exposing his knees. He certainly wasn’t dressed for the hotel’s restaurant, which had a strict dress code. Sirius must have noticed him frowning.

“I didn’t fancy eating the same thing  _ again _ . There’s a veggie place in town – two minutes down the road if that’s okay?” He was frowning now, seemingly realising that Remus didn’t exactly look at his peak. 

Remus considered this for a few moments – as long as it really was only a two-minute walk it was fine, probably. He nodded. “Sure, give me a second to make it look like I haven’t just woken up.”

He flicked on the ceiling light and gestured for Sirius to follow him back into the room, the door falling shut on its hinges behind him. Remus went over to the vanity and leant over to check his hair in the mirror. It was sticking up worse than James’s did. He ran his fingers through it a few times in an effort to tame it, but to no avail. 

“You look fine, man.” Sirius shrugged, standing rather awkwardly with his hands in his pockets just far enough away from Remus that the space felt too much. His expression was measured and flat, but there was something in his face that indicated that he hadn’t said exactly what he had wanted to say. Remus suspected that he  wanted to tell Remus that he looked like absolute shit, but didn’t want to upset him.

“It’s okay, I know I look rough. I had a flare up this week,” Remus confessed, straightening up and shrugging, ignoring the pain in his shoulder that had gotten even worse since his sleep, “hardly got any practice done, to be honest with you.”

As much as he hated the fact that he had told Sirius about his illness when he was pissed, he had to admit that it was nice to be able to talk about it with someone who was also going through the competition. Mentioning it to Frank was one thing, but he wasn’t there during the filming. Something about being able to talk to  _ Sirius _ about it felt different. It felt... good?

Sirius shook his head. “But did you  _ rest _ ?”

Remus frowned. “Well yeah, I did nothing  _ but _ rest.”

“Then it was a week well spent. How are you feeling about desserts?” Sirius tilted his head slightly, regarding Remus with a strange look in his eye.

“Uh, not as confident as I’d like but definitely better than I felt about bread.”

Sirius’s face broke out into that wide, warm grin – all shiny white teeth and dimples. “There you go, then. You’ll do great.”

Remus gave Sirius a weak smile in return before heading into the bathroom. He splashed cold water over his face and rubbed the sleep out of the corners of his eyes, letting the shock of the temperature wake him up a little. His body still felt heavy, but his mind felt a little sharper. A little less like soup.

“Alright, he said, emerging from the bathroom and scooping his backpack up off of the foot of his bed, “I’m ready.”

They headed down in the lift and out onto the street, Sirius chatting idly about his week. He had been pretty worried, it seemed, after being crowned star baker last week, about defending his title. Desserts weren’t his strong suit, and he was aware now that there was a lot of expectation on his shoulders. Remus had tried to reassure him, but Sirius had waved a hand. He seemed far more concerned about the events that had transpired the previous week.

“So, me and James have agreed – Snape definitely poisoned him last week.” Sirius said matter-of-factly as they emerged into the warm evening air. There was a breeze that cooled the exposed skin of Remus’s arms, but it was still absolutely sweltering all over the country. Remus wondered if they always scheduled to episodes where they had to make ice cream when there was a heatwave forecast.

He considered what Sirius had said for a moment, and realised that this was probably the reason that Sirius had hung back to get dinner with Remus. He did wonder why James hadn’t come with them, though. “Is James okay this week?”

Sirius nodded, swinging his arms as he walked, the black dog tattoo still visible on his pale arm. “Oh yeah, Prongs is all good. We’ve been plotting revenge all week.”

Remus shot Sirius a look, his brow furrowed. “Revenge? You should be careful you don’t get caught or you’ll get kicked out.”

They crossed the main street and approached a restaurant lit with gold lamps, the front windows lined with vines and hanging plant pots. It looked fairly busy, the tables in the windows all occupied by couples and families chatting and eating and laughing. Sirius led the way inside, holding the door open for Remus with a mock-bow. Remus laughed at him, shaking his head.

The restaurant was dark, lit warmly by table lights. More hanging plants trailed from the ceiling and there were big palms and cheese plants grouped in the corners of the room, giving the feeling that they were, in fact, dining in a rainforest. A waiter showed them to an empty table – in the back corner by the kitchen where the waiters were rushing in and out distractingly. 

“So,” Sirius started, opening his menu but not even taking a look at it, leaning forwards conspiringly toward Remus, the brass lamp lighting his face with an orange glow, “Snape collected everyone’s drinks at dinner that night.”

Remus frowned, but  nodded .

Sirius continued. “He also disappeared on the Saturday afternoon – do you remember? While we were on the proving break.”

Remus did not remember, but agreed with Sirius just so that he would not have to derail his theory. 

“Well, we reckon he went to the producer’s trailer and snooped around for the allergen list. Prongs said his Pepsi tasted funny so we reckon he put oyster sauce in it.”

Remus mulled this over for a few moments, sucking on his bottom lip. It seemed plausible enough, though a little farfetched for Remus’s liking. He couldn’t imagine there was really going to be this level of sabotage and backstabbing while they were filming fucking Bake Off. 

Sirius’s eyebrows were almost lost in his hair as he looked at Remus expectantly. Remus had no idea what he was supposed to say.

“Uh, I mean it sounds possible? Do we really think Snape would jeopardise his place in the competition like that, though?” Remus shrugged, opening his own menu and using it as an excuse to break Sirius’s intense eye contact. Sirius scoffed.

“I think that went out of the window the moment he decided that we nicked his recipe book.” 

“So,” Remus lowered the menu and fixed Sirius with a quirked eyebrow, “what’s your revenge plan?”

That smile was back, and Sirius relaxed back into his seat a little. “Don’t want to rope you into it – plausible deniability, and all that. But, rest assured, Snape will be going home this week for what he did.”

The knot in Remus’s stomach that carried all his guilt from the past two weeks seemed to double in size – that hardly seemed fair. But then, he supposed, Snape  _ had _ tried to get James sent home – and could have done far worse in the process. “This plan isn’t going to get Snape hurt?”

Sirius shook his head immediately. “Oh, there’s no way.”

Remus nodded solemnly. “Okay, fair enough. I support this.” The knot in his stomach pulled uncomfortably but Remus ignored it. Snape deserved this, as far as he was  concerned . James could have been seriously hurt thanks to his little prank last week. 

“Excellent,” Sirius smirked, finally letting his eyes fall to the menu, “god, this place has so many options, I don’t know how  you meat-eaters cope when every restaurant is like this for you.”

Sirius took his time whittling down his options, and it was nine o’clock before they were able to order. Remus had become increasingly aware of the fact that the waiter had been treating them as if they were on a date, but if Sirius had noticed he had not mentioned it. Remus didn’t want to make it awkward, so kept this observation to himself, taking a very large gulp of his wine and trying not to hold eye contact with Sirius for too long. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he hadn’t brushed his teeth when he had woken up. His breath stank. It really wasn’t very attractive.

With discussion of payback over with, their conversation fell back into more casual topics. They discussed what they were making that weekend – Sirius's lemon meringue roulade sounded delicious, as did his champagne cherry baked  alaska – and what they thought the others might make. They spoke about the bread that had been served to them and Sirius’s extensive list of things he would have added to it to make it better. Remus had laughed along with him as he criticised it, watching as Sirius did an almost spot-on impression of Minerva McGonagall, scowling at the buttered slice in his hand and declaring it underproved.

The laughter died off and the silence hung between them for a few seconds, their eyes caught together, grey and brown. Remus licked his lips and watched as Sirius’s eyes seemed to flick downwards for a moment, though it could have just been a trick of the light. Or Remus’s own wishful thinking. Sirius leaned an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his palm, inclining his head a little.

“I saw your Bowie shirt last week,” he picked up the bread on his side plate again and took a bite, chewing as he spoke, “I fucking love Bowie.”

Remus was slightly taken aback at the sudden subject change, but was  _ always _ down to talk about music. He realised that he and Sirius hadn’t ever talked about anything that  _ wasn’t  _ baking, and it felt nice to learn more about him. Oh god, Remus thought, this really  _ must  _ look like a date to the waiters rushing past them.

They launched into a passionate discussion about their favourite music, finding that they had an awful lot of overlap when it came to 1970s and 80s classics. Sirius was into slightly heavier stuff than Remus on the whole, but admitted that he had an appreciation for Elton John under the right circumstances.

“I can work with that.” Remus smirked, raising his wine to his lips as the waiter delivered their main courses.

Sirius barked his harsh laugh, picking up his knife and fork and repositioning his plate so that it was facing the way that he wanted. “Are you going to convert me?”

Remus shrugged. “Everyone comes around eventually – he's a queer icon of the ages.”

Sirius nodded knowingly. “I never denied that, I just can’t abide Tiny Dancer.”

“It’s okay that you have no taste.”

Sirius placed his hand on his heart in mock-offense. “This coming from the man who doesn’t even like Whitesnake.”

Remus scoffed, “uh, yeah? Because I’m not a forty-year-old cishet man.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m  _ very  _ glad about that.”

The banter flowed easily between them, prodding and poking at each other as if they had known one another their whole lives. Remus wouldn’t have imagined after this time last week that Sirius would be so open with him, even flirting with Remus in his tipsy state. If Remus wasn’t quite so tipsy himself that fact probably would have sent him into a meltdown, but as it was, he leant into it, giving just as good as he got.

“Oh yeah,” he propped his chin on his fist and smiled drunkenly across at Sirius, “why’s that?”

Sirius sputtered a little on his wine, laughing. “I’m calling a veto on this conversation.” Sirius held his hands up after putting his wine glass down, shaking his head. “I know we’re both  queers , but this is  _ Bake Off _ , not Grindr.”

***

Remus had gone a little easier on the wine this week, and made sure he was in bed by half past ten, thus avoiding the horrific mixture of a hangover and a lack of sleep that had plagued him for the last week’s filming day. The weather was entirely inappropriate to be making chilled desserts, with the midday forecast supposed to hit forty degrees, and Remus was absolutely not looking forward to being outside in a tent on a day like this, with nine ovens on full blast all around him.

He hated not wearing layers, but the weather called for another plain t-shirt look, so he put on his favourite Elton John shirt as a sort of nod and a wink to Sirius about their conversation the night before. Usually if he had woken up to the memory of drunkenly flirting with someone as gorgeous as Sirius, he would have simply collapsed in on himself and never wanted to speak to them ever again, but somehow this felt different. He felt... confident? Sirius had been the one who flirted first, after all,  _ and _ Remus had finally gotten his confirmation that Sirius was some variety of gay.

He made his way down to breakfast to find James and Sirius sitting together on the table closest to the buffet, an empty seat across from them. Remus slipped into the chair with a polite “good morning” as a way of announcing that he was going to sit there, before getting up again and heading back to the buffet and piling himself a full  english onto his plate.

“’Morning.” James gave him a warm smile, nursing a cup of milky tea in his hands as Remus put down his plate and collapsed back down. “Didn’t see you at dinner yesterday, ‘you okay?”

Remus’s eyes flicked to Sirius quickly, searching for some indication that Sirius had told James anything about his week. Sirius shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. His cheeks looked a little flushed. 

Remus nodded. “Yeah, just taking a nap. Me and Sirius went out for dinner in town to that veggie place.”

“Oh?” James turned very deliberately to Sirius and gave him a knowing smirk. Sirius hit him on the arm. Whatever wordless conversation was going on, Remus didn’t understand it. 

“We were discussing  _ the plan _ .”

James gave an overexaggerated nod, pulling a face at Sirius that indicated he did not believe him at all. “Sure, yeah, of course.”

“Fuck off, Prongs.”

Remus cleared his throat – mainly just to remind them that he was still there. James’s head snapped back around to him immediately, looking a little bashful.

There was a strange energy around the three of them that morning, and conversation felt forced – a lot more so than it had the night before when it had only been Remus and Sirius. Remus tried to put it to the back of his mind and focus on baking – he was fortunate to have woken up with spoons again, and needed to make sure he made the most of it. Worrying  unnecessarily about things that weren’t anywhere near as important as the competition wasn’t going to help anyone, apart from his competitors.

They were all ferried into make-up one by one, and then sent off the tent, the hot weather already melting the concealer under Remus’s eyes. He got the feeling that this episode was going to be difficult for reasons completely unrelated to what they were cooking. His fringe was stuck to his sweaty forehead and he cursed the fact that he had worn a dark t-shirt – the sweat patches would show up so badly on camera.

Their first task was the meringue roulade, and Remus made it exactly as he had done the previous morning, trying to imagine that the questions and quips from the Prewett twins were just Frank messing about with him in the kitchen. Everything was going relatively well, unless he was counting the fact his whipped cream had completely melted in the heat. A quick glance around the room showed that most of the other bakers were in the same position. It seemed that James was actually whipping his double cream  _ inside _ the fridge. 

Rolling the roulade was the scariest part for Remus. He almost always broke it, but it never mattered when it wasn’t going to be judged. He and Frank didn’t care about stuff like that. Albus Dumbledore absolutely would, however.

He ended up with a swirl shape, however the middlemost end of the meringue had broken. Looking around the room, however, he had to admit that he felt confident. At least his was in one piece, unlike Severus’s. Remus put his roulade in the freezer and took a seat. There were fifteen minutes left of the task and all he needed to do was hope that the freezer chilled it enough that the cream wouldn’t all just pour out of the dessert as soon as it was shown to the judges. 

From his vantage point, Remus watched Sirius bustling around his station. He looked flushed, and was nervously wiping up meringue from his counter. He didn’t look over at Snape once.

Remus wondered what he was planning – was he going to slip something into Snape’s bake? Maybe he was planning to ‘accidentally’ bump into him while carrying a tray up to be judged so that Snape lost off of his desserts. It could be anything at all. Remus just hoped that Sirius didn’t get caught.

The judging went well enough – Remus felt as if he had come out towards the top end of the group. Dumbledore had remarked that the flavour combination that Remus had come up with was delightful, and had the filling solidified more it would have been absolutely perfect.  Remus would take that. 

His friends didn’t fare quite so well, James definitely falling into the bottom half of the pack and Lily surprisingly falling from grace, being told that the peanut butter and jam flavour combination just had really not worked. Peter did predictably well, and Remus thought for a moment that he might even get a McGonagall handshake, but it was not to happen. Dorcas, however, was rewarded with McGonagall’s firm grip, and a hearty well done from Dumbledore for her stunning strawberry and cream roulade. Remus had tried it in the filming break – it was  _ delicious _ .

The technical was a Dumbledore recipe for a hazelnut dacquoise, whatever that was. Remus had no idea. It turned out to be a sort of cake made from disks of meringue layered with cream and finely chopped hazelnuts. Remus would have thought it was delicious, had it not have been such a nightmare to construct, especially with so few instructions.

The cameras had got an excellent shot of Remus with his head down on the counter, groaning before muttering. “Would it kill them to give us helpful instructions? I don’t even know what it’s supposed to look like.”

By the end of the ordeal, Remus had achieved an acceptable forth out of nine.

Sirius and James’s sabotage still had not raised its head. Judging by Snape’s performance on his own however, he was absolutely in danger of going home even if the boys changed their mind at the last minute. He had come last in the technical.  Apparently, he really hated meringue.

“That was fucking horrible, wasn’t it?” Lily fell into step with Remus on the way back up to the hotel that evening, the hot sun beating down on them and making them feel sluggish. Lily had struggled in both tasks but had been nowhere near as bad as Snape. Still, it seemed that James, Lily and Severus were the ones in danger that week. Remus felt the anxiety bubbling in the back of his head and forced it back down.

“I feel like it would have been fine if it wasn’t so  bloody hot.” Remus admitted bitterly.

Lily nodded. “I mean, even baking inside an industrial freezer wouldn’t have saved my roulade. I  completely forgot that Dumbledore hates peanut butter. I should have just stuck with lemon, but knowing Sirius was going to do it really psyched me out.”

They both took the lift up to their respective rooms and left each other in comfortable silence. Remus whacked up the air conditioning in his room to full blast and fell back onto his mattress, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before they all hit the restaurant for dinner later. He felt heavy and sticky in the heat, and his thoughts were getting thick and soupy again, like they were melting together. 

He had no idea how he was supposed to make ice cream in this weather.

***

Well, Remus thought, as he watched Severus Snape stalk out of the tent in a rage, this is going to be a historic episode of  _ Bake Off _ .

They had been sharing freezers – that had been the first problem. The second had been the high temperature of  forty-five degrees. The third was that Sirius had taken Snape’s ice cream out of the freezer when he wasn’t looking.

Snape had had a tantrum when he had realised. It had probably been on the side for less than thirty seconds, but the damage had been done. His mint chocolate ice cream – which had already not set to begin with – was milkshake. Sirius apologised profusely, making a real show of it, very convincing if Remus had to admit it. Of course, there was no way that Sirius had done it maliciously! He was only taking it out because Severus had put it in the wrong freezer, and Sirius needed the space for his lemon sorbet. The producers had agreed that Sirius was well within his right to remove it, seeing as Severus should have been sharing a freezer with  James anyway.

Snape had attempted to assemble his baked alaska, placing his ice cream on top of his cakes, but it had all simply poured off. Gideon Prewett had tried to convince him it was salvageable, but Snape had dumped it in the bin unceremoniously, balled up his apron and thrown it on the ground, before walking out of the tent without another word. Or, rather, no words that could be televised before the watershed.

Severus was disqualified from the round and sent home for not  producing a bake for the judges to assess, meaning that Sirius’s quest for revenge had been  successful . Snape was going home, and Remus truly believed that he deserved it. Remus wasn’t even sure that Snape wouldn’t have been sent home if they hadn’t intervened, if he was honest.

Dorcas was crowned that week’s star baker, her raspberry and vanilla ice cream with banana walnut cake baked  alaska had gone down a treat with the judges. She had walked all over the others, in Remus’s opinion, except maybe Peter, who had made an impressive mint chocolate  alaska . 

Remus just felt lucky to be baking for another week.


	5. Pastry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter: panic attacks again, and sex (not depicted, but implied)

Lily was absolutely furious when the directors finally called the end of filming. She stormed out of the tent without so much as a look in Remus, James and Sirius’s direction, hot on Snape’s heels, her dark red hair bouncing in her ponytail behind her.

“Jesus,” Sirius said, raising his eyebrows, “what do you  reckon’s got into her?”

Remus rolled his eyes and stretched, fixing his eyes straight ahead at the remains of his baked alaska, which was dripping ice cream off of its stand and onto the counter, almost completely collapsed in the sticky heat. “Maybe it’s something to do with the sabotage.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sirius replied quickly, his voice dark. Remus snapped around to meet his gaze and found it equally dangerous – he had thought that they were just joking around, but something about Sirius and James’s expressions told him that he was completely wrong. “Keep your fucking voice down.”

James put a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off, pushing past Remus with a little more force than he needed to. Sirius left the tent and stalked up to the hotel alone, leaving James and Remus behind, watching him with frowns.

“Come on,” James took  a hold of Remus’s elbow and pulled him towards the exit, “we shouldn’t talk about this here.”

Once they were safely outside and away from the open ears of the crew and the other bakers, James turned on Remus, still holding onto his elbow, his eyes almost pleading in their earnestness. “You  _ cannot _ make jokes about it.”

“Why not? It’s not as if anyone thinks Sirius did it on purpose.” Remus screwed up his face, his brow creased and nose scrunched. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal – Snape was bad enough that weekend that he would have gone home anyway. Taking the ice cream out of the freezer hadn’t even made a difference. 

James let go of Remus’s arm, the hard look in his eyes dropping very briefly, before returning. “They don’t  _ yet _ .”

Ah. That was true. Remus suddenly felt the guilt knot lurch in his stomach.

“Okay, yeah, fair point.” 

James’s expression finally relaxed, and he rolled his shoulders back, taking in a deep breath through his nose. James looked like the type of person who thrived in the hot weather – the type of person who went on jogs for  _ fun _ . Remus couldn’t feel more differently, but somehow James was very easy to be around. The sun  reflected off of the man’s glasses and James held out a hand to block it, looking over to Remus once more.

“Right, shall we go and find the drama queen, then?”

Remus nodded, thinking of nothing he would like more than to go back inside the air-conditioned hotel. Sirius had seemed pissed at Remus joking about, but hopefully his mood would change just as quickly as James’s had once Remus apologised. They headed up the bone-dry lawn, the grass looking weaker and more yellow than it had the week before, and into the lobby through the glass doors, where Sirius was stood waiting for the lift.

He grunted a greeting to Remus, who felt his stomach knot tighten. Still, he felt he needed to make an effort, and so painted on a false smile and attempted bright conversation.

“Hey, we’re through to bake for another week!”

Sirius nodded, his expression not changing even for a moment. The lift doors opened and he stepped in. James hurried in afterwards, pulling in Remus by the arm. When the doors slid closed, James rounded on Sirius immediately.

“Don’t be a dick – you're the one who saw how things were going for Severus and decided we still needed to go through with that stupid prank.” 

Remus was taken  aback; he had never seen James so angry – hissing with real venom at Sirius. Sirius’s face remained stony.

“I’m not  _ being _ a dick. Remus could have got me kicked off the fucking show, running his mouth off like that in the fucking tent.” His voice was cold. Remus felt like he might vomit.

He should apologise. He should say  _ something.  _ Literally anything would do.

Remus felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“And besides, it wasn’t even about getting Snape kicked off – it was about  _ revenge _ . He could have killed you, Prongs.” Sirius spat. James closed his eyes and shook his head, tutting loudly.

“I never asked for your protection, Padfoot, I can look after myself.”

Their bickering was quiet, stabbing words hissed at one another under their breath. It wasn’t even directed at Remus, but he felt each blow as if it was a direct hit. He had fucked up.  _ He  _ was the reason everyone was so angry. It was his fault.

Sirius, though significantly shorter, was squaring up to James. “Looks to me like you fucking can’t. None of you can look after yourselves – Moony can’t even keep his fucking mouth  _ shut _ .”

The lift dinged and the doors slid open, and Remus bolted out as quickly as possible, not looking back at the other bakers, practically running into his door as he reached it. He fumbled with the key card and let himself inside, slamming the door behind him and leaning his back against it, tilting his head back and trying to take deep, steady breaths. 

He felt the panic rising in the back of his throat, crawling up and over his mind, enveloping it so that he couldn’t think of anything else. Sirius had been so angry, and it was all directed towards him. Remus had monumentally fucked up – what if someone had heard? What if they realised that Sirius had done it on purpose and kicked him off the show? It would all be Remus’s fault, Sirius was right.

Oh god, Sirius was right.

His heart was beating hard against his ribcage. Remus slid down the door and to the floor, drawing his knees up into his chest, pressing his forehead down onto the fabric of his jeans. He felt each breath rattle and catch, never giving him enough oxygen, never letting him up for air. He pulled on his hair to give him a feeling of pain to latch onto, something that told him he was still real and still existed within his body, but it was too difficult. He felt that familiar sensation of leaving his body, floating in the air. Lost at sea.

They had said the show was better when everyone got on. But now Sirius fucking hated him.

It could have lasted for hours; he had no idea. He stayed there until he had pins and needles in his arms from holding them up for so long and his throat was dry from his sobbing. His back was aching from the way he had folded himself up against the door, and his hips protested painfully as he stood up and made his way over to the vanity, where he had been stood with Sirius just two nights ago.

He’d fucked everything up, there was no denying it. He could never show his face in front of Sirius ever again.

He caught his reflection in the mirror and almost did not recognise himself. He was gaunt – his dark circles exaggerated by his red puffy eyes, the concealer the makeup team had caked him in streaked down his cheeks. His hair was sticking out where he had been gripping it and his face was even paler than usual. He looked like a ghost. He looked  _ sick _ . He supposed he was, in a way. His anxiety hadn’t been this bad since his A Levels, years ago now, when he had gotten it diagnosed.

That’s what going on a national television show would do to a person, he supposed. Though he wasn’t exactly happy that the nation was going to see him looking like this – it might even make his dad pick up the phone.

He turned back to check the time – it was eight. He had been sat by the door for four hours. Fucking hell. Time really flies when you’re dissociating, huh?

His stomach grumbled angrily, but Remus felt too sick at the idea of seeing Sirius to go down to the restaurant to eat. He supposed that he could call up for room service, but that wasn’t covered by the show tab and he couldn’t afford it. Getting a delivery would work, but he would have to meet them downstairs, and he could bump into Sirius in the lobby.

No, he would just go to sleep.

***

Remus left the hotel early the next morning, deciding that he would rather buy breakfast at Sainsburys and sit on the platform for three hours than eat with Dorcas and Sirius. He had supposed he could have sat alone in the restaurant and eaten, but somehow that felt even worse. People would ask why he was not with the other bakers and he would have to come up with an excuse. They might realise what had happened.

No. Train station breakfast, it was.

The weather was still swelteringly hot, the dry heat hanging in the air like a heavy pressure on Remus’s shoulders as he dragged his suitcase from the supermarket towards the station. This only succeeded in making him feel even more run down and miserable – he couldn’t feel comfortable, not while he felt like the personification of a swamp.

He found a bench on the platform that was partially in the shade and grazed his way through the fruit that he had bought, staring blankly at the billboards across the tracks, not really reading them. He was listening to a playlist, but he couldn’t focus on any of the words. The fog that hung over his brain was even worse in the heat, obscuring not only his thoughts but the passage of time. Suddenly, he had finished his breakfast and the train was pulling in. Wasn’t that supposed to have been in two  hours' time ?

Somehow, he made it home. Frank was there to greet him by his bedroom door as usual, his expression one of sympathy. He must have assumed that Remus hadn’t gotten through, seeing as he hadn’t made any effort to contact him. Frank must have been worried – it was pretty rude of Remus to not have messaged. God, he was a terrible friend.

“You alright, Remus?” 

Remus kicked off his shoes and left them where they fell, picking up his suitcase with only a grunt in response to Frank’s question. He didn’t want to burden anyone else with this mood – it was even worse than last week. Frank didn’t need Remus being an asshole to deal with, he had already eaten far too much into Frank’s thesis writing time. 

Remus started up the stairs, expecting Frank to just accept the fact that Remus did not want to talk and go back to his own room, but the boy started to follow him for some godforsaken reason. 

“Remus, it’s okay, you can talk to me.”

But did he  _ want _ to? Did Remus even remember how to talk? He wasn’t sure. He was too ashamed of himself.

Remus reached the landing and began fumbling around in his jeans pocket for his keys. He felt a hot hand on his bicep.

“If you didn’t get through to next week that’s -”

“I got through.” Remus’s voice was croaky, but strong. He cut across Frank and looked back to him, tired. He did not elaborate. There were a few moments of silence. Eye contact coupled with Franks fingers on Remus’s skin. Frank’s eyes were shiny and concerned, and he squeezed Remus’s arm. Something shifted inside Remus, something that made him feel a kind of guilt. There was a quiet understanding between them – something that crackled and fizzed silently, something powerful.

“Did something happen? Do you want to talk about it?”

His words broke the magic, and Remus pulled his arm and his gaze away, unlocking his bedroom door and pushing it open, heading inside and throwing his suitcase down on the floor. He expected Frank to wait outside – there was an unspoken rule in their house that no one went into anyone else’s rooms – but he did not hesitate in following. 

Frank slammed the door behind him.

“Talk to me, Remus,  _ please _ .” 

Remus did not look at him, facing away from the man and staring blankly at the black mirror of his TV. The ghost of Remus stared back; eyes empty but heavy in the bright afternoon sunlight. He didn’t  _ want  _ to look at Frank again, that feeling from before was too intense. It felt like a mistake waiting to happen. But then, Remus had made a lot of mistakes that weekend.

The guilty voice in his head made itself known again, warning him not to speak to Frank about what had happened – he would ask about  Sirius; he would find out that there was someone else. But why would it even matter? He and Frank weren’t a  _ thing _ . But then, neither were he and Sirius. 

Remus took a deep, rattling breath, collecting his thoughts, closing his eyes. If he could talk to anyone in person, Frank was probably the one to go to. Had he not managed to deal with Remus on Friday? Did he not make Remus feel safe? These things were true, but he also felt dangerous, but maybe Remus liked that.

“I fucked up.” Saying it out loud felt like someone had dropped a weight on his chest. “There’s this other baker – we're friends and I like him,” he left the wording ambiguous, trying not to indicate either way what he meant by his voice, “but something happened. I said something and now he’s furious with me.”

“Oh, love,” Remus watched as Frank took a step towards him in the reflection of the room, and felt a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”

Remus scoffed, shaking his head. “No, it is. I can’t tell you what happened but trust me – I really fucked it up. He won’t even speak to me.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezed, and Remus felt another on his back, rubbing in small circles. The contact was nice, but Frank’s hands felt like they were burning. The guilt in his stomach lurched uncomfortably, reminding him that cosying up with Frank would never be a good idea, not when his thoughts were so consumed with Sirius at all times. 

“If he’s acting like that, he clearly wasn’t the one, love.”

But even so, as Frank attempted to soothe him, Remus felt more connected to himself than he had done all weekend – all week, even. The hand on his back had seemingly awoken something within him and every one of his nerves was alert and waiting. Remus’s empty gaze became dark as his eyes wandered to Frank’s reflection in the television. The sick feeling in his stomach told him that he would regret this – and regardless of that, he knew what he was doing was both a huge mistake and cruel.

But Frank  _ was _ very pretty. And so nice.

Frank seemed to be following the same thought process as Remus, shifting his weight on his feet so that he was stood by Remus’s side, sliding the hand on Remus’s shoulder up his neck slowly, resting for a moment at his jaw, thumb stroking stubble, drawing his face around to look down at Frank. There was that contact again, something deep and unspoken there in the back of their eyes. The hand moved around to Remus’s hair, interlacing with it, pulling his’s face towards Frank’s slowly.

“Is  this okay?” Frank’s voice was a whisper, but it didn’t matter – they were only inches apart. 

Remus nodded, already stretching to close the distance between them, desperate to feel something –  _ anything –  _ that wasn’t aching emptiness. He kissed Frank hungrily, pouring all of the frustration and terror and joy he had felt over the past four weeks into him; his hands gripping either side of Frank’s face like he was afraid that it was all a dream. The flat hand on Remus’s back became a fist, grasping the material of his shirt, pulling at it, snaking its way underneath, the feeling of skin on sticky, hot skin like a jolt of electricity through Remus’s dulled mind.

Well, this was certainly one way to wake up.

***

“I hope you like pie,” Remus was in the kitchen, folding yet another layer of butter into the batch of puff pastry he was making, “because I need to make at least six this week.”

Frank grinned at him from the other side of the island, head propped on his fist, watching Remus work with a fond look in his eye. They had certainly had an interesting Monday, but Remus couldn’t afford to lose a second week of practice. Frank seemed satisfied to continue his role as moral support, albeit now in a slightly different way.

“Are you sure we can’t go back and do bread again? I liked watching you knead the dough.” Frank’s eyes glinted wickedly, and Remus met them with a deadpan expression.

“I seem to remember I actually scammed you into doing all the kneading for me on account of my dodgy shoulder.”

Frank shook his head, standing up straight and stretching his arms out in front of him so both palms were flat on the counter. “That’s beside the point.”

“And anyway, I was rather enjoying watching  _ you _ .” Remus confessed as he began wrapping the pastry in cling film ready to put back in the fridge. He had to make two pies for his signature challenge – one savoury and one sweet – and a large, hand raised pie for the showstopper. The signature he felt fairly confident with, but the showstopper was a pretty intimidating challenge. 

The worst part about it was how long and arduous the pastry making process was. No one should have to make their pastry from scratch – that's what supermarkets were for.

Remus leant down and put his pastry in the fridge built into the counter, trying to ignore the ache in his back as he did. It needed half an hour – enough time for he and Frank to drive to big Tesco to pick up the stuff for the fillings. They weren’t sticking to the competition timings today, on account of not having bought any ingredients yet, so were treating it more as a taste test. They would need to stop off at the butcher too, seeing as the hand raised pie called for a frankly disgusting  number of different meats for the filling.

Remus’s mind wandered to what Sirius might do for his pie, seeing as he was a vegetarian. Even thinking his name felt like a punch in the stomach. And just like that, the brief respite from his own culpability was gone. He was a piece of shit again – showing no consideration for Sirius back in the tent; showing no consideration for Frank as he led him on. 

“Are we off to the shops, then?” Frank interrupted Remus’s pity party, clapping his hands and picking up his backpack from the sofa where he had flung it earlier. He slipped the straps over his shoulders and gripped them, shrugging up to his ears as he took a deep breath inward. 

Remus turned back to the sink and began washing his hands, which were coated in butter and pastry dough. “Give me a second to go and get my stuff.”

Remus hurried back up the stairs and into his room, very pointedly keeping his eyes away from the crumpled sheets on his bed lest he have a complete guilt-fuelled breakdown, and scooped up his wallet and an old Record Store Day tote bag from the lid of his laundry hamper. His mind was still racing – maybe he should text Sirius and apologise? Had he even apologised yesterday? He didn’t remember. All he remembered was feeling like he was going to throw up.

He couldn’t text Sirius in front of Frank – not now. What would he think? No, it was a bad idea. Remus slipped his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it, before opening his text messages and looking at the last thread between him and Sirius. It was Sirius telling Remus he had missed his train – he wouldn’t be there at the station to meet him. Remus had told him not to worry and said he wasn’t feeling very well anyway. Sirius had told him he hoped he felt better soon, and that he would see him later. He’d signed off with a kiss.

Remus’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a few moments as he tried to decide a good way to word it. What was he even supposed to say?

_ Remus Lupin to Sirius Black 15:06: _

_ \- Hey, I just wanted to apologise for running my mouth off in the tent like that. You were right, I wasn’t thinking and it could have compromised your position in the competition. I feel really  _ _ really _ _ bad about it – I'll try to do better in the future. You don’t need to forgive me or anything like that, you don’t even need to reply to me, I just need to say something or I feel like I’m going to suffocate. _

He hit send and felt a small weight lift from his shoulders, but it moved immediately to his stomach. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and resolved not to look at it again for the rest of the day, trying to ignore his shaking hands and breath. It was good to have said that, it was progress. Years  ago, he never would have even considered reaching out to someone like that. It was a good step. It was  _ good _ . So why did he feel so terrified?

Remus knew why. Countless NHS and university therapists had told him exactly why after sitting him on a waiting list for several years. He always assumed the worst from people. It was all because of his dad, of course, just like the majority of his problems. 

Remus closed his eyes and rubbed them with the heels of his hands.  _ Slow down,  _ he told himself _ , you’re always going a million miles an hour _ .

He took a deep breath and focussed on the tasks he had to get done for the rest of the day. Shopping with Frank. Making pies. Eating pies. Reading at least two chapters of his book. Making some notes.  _ Showering _ . Going to bed by ten. Small tasks he could easily tick off. His breathing slowed.

Task one: shopping with Frank. 

They bundled into the front of Frank’s car after having dumped their bags into the boot, and Frank fumbled with his phone and the aux cable for a few moments. He unlocked his phone and handed it to Remus with a wink.

“Put on some good tunes, will you, mate?”

Remus obliged, and lead the two of them in a rousing rendition of Saturday Night’s Alright (For Fighting) as Frank drove them the fifteen-minute trip to the big Tesco down the road. It felt easy and natural to be with Frank, and Remus felt that without the weird undercurrent of whatever the fuck was happening between them that made him feel so guilty they could have been proper friends. Remus hadn’t gotten any  _ real _ friends in Cardiff, not since Mary left for Scotland.

_ Shit _ , Mary. He hadn’t texted Mary in ages. She must be worried. But if she was worried, wouldn’t she have texted? No, Remus thought, she was probably just busy. Teacher training was hell, he knew that, she had bigger things to be concerned about than Remus’s social life.

He would just wait for her to message him.

Frank pulled in to the car park and shut off the engine, stopping the music abruptly right as Remus was attempting one of the high notes in Tiny Dancer. Frank laughed at him, and nudged Remus in the arm with a pointy elbow, taking his phone back and turning off his Spotify. His mouth was open as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to go about it, looking down at the screen with his eyebrows knitted together. Remus chewed on his lip, not wanting to prompt him, afraid of what he might say.

“This isn’t -” Frank cut himself off, having looked up to Remus briefly before averting his gaze once more to the screen of his phone. He paused for a moment. “This isn’t going to change stuff, is it? Between us, I mean.”

Remus blinked. He hadn’t expected that. He had thought that Frank  _ did  _ want things to change.

“Uh, I mean, do you  _ want _ things to change?” Remus didn’t want to say anything that would upset Frank, or make him angry. He’d rather just know what Frank wanted and go with it.

Frank shook his head. “Listen, Remus, I’m not being funny, I do think you’re fit.”

“Good to know.”

“Shut up,” Frank laughed, finally looking up to meet Remus’s eyes. Frank bit his lip, before he continued, “I’m not looking to  _ date _ you, just so you know.”

_ Thank god _ , Remus wanted to say, but he knew that would sound incredibly rude. He let out a breath that he didn’t realise he had been holding. He felt like he had been holding it for weeks.

“Okay, good, I’m not looking for that either.” Remus went to open the door and get out of the car, but Frank stopped him.

“Wait - were you just going to agree with whatever I said?”

Remus closed his eyes. “No?”

Frank sighed, leaning back a little in the car seat and tilting his head back. “You can’t live your life like that, Remus. You can’t just tell people what they want to hear all the time.”

Remus squirmed a little in his seat. That was exactly what his therapist used to say.

“What if I’d have said I wanted to go out with you? Would you have just gone along with it, been miserable, until  _ I  _ eventually broke up with you because you didn’t want to upset me?” Frank carried on, giving an almost perfect description of what Remus had been worrying about happening for the past week and a half.

Remus felt extremely uncomfortable, confronted with the reality of how he had been planning to screw up his entire life. He didn’t know what to say, but his silence seemed like enough for Frank.

“I don’t mean to psychoanalyse you, sorry. That was a bit harsh.” 

Frank unclipped his seatbelt and turned to open the car door, shaking his head. Remus was feeling sick again. Had it really been that obvious? Was he really that much of an open book? He wondered what Sirius might have been thinking about him for the past four weeks – maybe he knew everything. Frank clearly did. 

Remus got out of the car and watched Frank as he locked the doors. He knew he should say something – Frank had opened up a conversation, something he had been worrying about. It was an opportunity to get some of the weight off of his chest. 

“No, you were right. It’s something I need to work on.” Remus mumbled, looking down at his feet as they moved around to the back of the car and opened up the boot, taking out their bags. 

Frank scoffed, letting the boot slam shut and locking it. “There are worse things to be than a people pleaser, but you’ll never make yourself happy that way, mate.”

Remus hummed in agreement as they made their way across the car park towards the supermarket. The sun was high in the sky and beating down on them, the bright light making the concrete look hazy ahead of them. Remus could feel the heat on his arms and wished that he had put on sun cream – he was spending a lot more time outside than he usually did in the summer, his skin wasn’t used to it. 

“Anyway, my  _ point _ was,” Frank started, “that I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

They stopped by the trolley park and Frank fumbled in his pockets for a pound to free them a trolley. Remus watched him quietly, wondering if it was worth him reiterating what he had said before. Had Frank not believed him? Remus decided it was best to clarify – he didn’t want Frank to think that he had been lying.

“I meant what I said before, I don’t either. I think my life is enough of a mess right now, truth be told.”

“Oh,” Frank looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting, “so you think I’m  _ messy _ ?”

Remus scoffed, bumping Frank out of the way with his hip and taking the trolley from him. “Shut  _ up _ , you know what I meant.” 

***

It was nice, Remus had to admit, the casual relationship that he and Frank had accidentally started. Once they had talked about boundaries at the supermarket, the guilt that had been building in  Remus’s stomach about fancying him had disappeared, leaving behind only the guilt that surrounded Sirius.

Remus tried his best not to think about that. Sirius had never replied to his text.

It was wild to think that talking about the things that were bothering you actually made you feel better. Remus had already known it, of course, but talking about things was hard, so he tended to just push them to the back of his mind and ignore them completely. All those therapists had told him that that was a bad thing to do, and he had agreed and forced himself to open up more, but that had been years ago. Moving to a new city, away from all of the people he felt comfortable speaking to and deciding to apply for  _ Bake Off _ had been a bit too much all at once, he had to admit. 

Maybe he should start looking for a therapist in Cardiff.

Remus sat at the kitchen table, as usual, waiting for the pies in the oven to cook. As promised, these were his sixth practice run of the signature challenge - the first, a Mediterranean inspired vegetable and chorizo pie, the second a sweet cherry and dark chocolate. The combination of smells in the kitchen was a little sickly, but he couldn’t be bothered to cook them separately, not to mention he was pushing it on the time constraints of the challenge as it was.

Frank had his laptop open at the table opposite him and was playing his study playlist (very similar to his bops playlist, but with slightly more Dua Lipa, for some reason). He was mouthing along with the words to the song that was playing as he stared at the screen, his face lit up with blue in the dim light from the window. The kitchen was always dark, being at the side of the house where the sun was blocked by the neighbouring buildings. It was a welcome respite, however, because the bay windows in the two men’s rooms made them feel like plants in a greenhouse.

Remus was privately very glad to see Frank actually working on his own projects for once. He understood that being on TV was a huge deal, but it seemed that Frank had been letting his PhD slip on Remus’s account, and that had only been adding to the list of reasons why he had felt sick every time that Frank had spoken to him. Now that they had been spending the whole week together, seeing Frank processing his research results was a relief.

Just as Remus was pondering this, Frank slammed his laptop shut, cutting his playlist off abruptly.

“I’m sick of this now.” He said, suddenly. Remus  sat up a little straighter, feeling his stomach twist. It was only Thursday, had Frank gotten sick of him already?

“Sick of what?” Remus tried to look casual as he asked, though his mind was, once again, racing at a million miles per hour.

Frank rolled his eyes. “Not you, idiot.” He laughed, and the smile he shot in Remus’s direction was fond. “I’m talking about all these bloody numbers. I’ve been putting this off for so long because I knew it would be awful, and look at that – I was right.”

“You could always take a break?” Remus suggested, lifting an eyebrow in a way that he hoped wasn’t  _ too _ suggestive of exactly the type of break he was considering.

Frank snorted. “I wish – Alice needed these results  _ ages _ ago for her thesis, I need to get these finished yesterday.”

Remus’s stomach gave an unhelpful lurch – he had been distracting Frank this whole time, dragging him out to the supermarket and up to his bedroom, when he really should have just been letting him work. No wonder Alice had been angry the last time he had seen her.

“Don’t give me that look,” Frank said, his voice stern, “it’s not your fault – I can make my own decisions about how I spend my time, you know?”

Remus still felt guilty, but he knew it was true. Remus hadn’t  _ asked _ Frank to help him every week, his housemate had just sort-of decided. Remus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, still not liking that Frank could apparently tell exactly what Remus was thinking at all times. 

“I’m still sorry,” Remus shrugged, dragging his gaze away from Frank as he spoke and staring deep into the oven, “I should have told you to leave me alone.”

Frank tutted, and Remus looked back to see him shaking his head. “Oh yeah, because it really would have been a great idea to leave you on your own these last couple of weeks. You would have thought yourself into a corner and dropped out of the show.”

Again, Frank was exactly on the money. Remus kind of hated it.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, crossing his arms across his chest and looking down at the table. His notebook lay open with the recipe for his pies. It had been scribbled over and annotated with several changes over the past week. The ones in the oven were the final version and were a decided improvement on those he had made on Monday. “I thought you said you weren’t going to psychoanalyse me?”

Frank shrugged. “Just telling it like it is, mate.”

Frank sighed and rubbed his face with his palm, before opening up his laptop once more and squinting at the bright light. Remus didn’t know how he did it – far too much science for his liking. Frank was studying something to do with batteries, a project that Alice had been collaborating on, and had thousands of rows of spreadsheet to trawl through to calculate his results. It seemed like a struggle to come up with anything meaningful. Remus supposed it must be an awful lot of pressure – knowing that not only your PhD relied on the data you had collected but your best  friend’s did too. Remus thought that if he and Frank had swapped places, he would have had a breakdown even sooner.

The oven timer started beeping, letting Remus know that if they were going to have pie for dinner, he should probably start making some mashed potatoes. The clock hanging on the wall showed that it was swiftly approaching six o’clock - yet another day almost over, yet another day closer to the next recording, yet another day closer to being confronted with Sirius. 

Remus hadn’t heard from Sirius at all that week, which was unusual. Remus had gotten used to little texts throughout the day letting him know what he was getting up to – if he had screwed up a bake or found an interesting ingredient at the shops, or even that one time a customer threw a gherkin at him. It seemed like all of that was over now. The only texts Remus had gotten all week had been from Mary – a couple of memes and whatever stupid puns she had just thought up, but no real conversations – and James, who seemed worried. Remus had swiped the latter away, not knowing what to say, feeling too guilty to look.

What if James had been texting to say that Sirius had been kicked off the show because they heard Remus calling what happened ‘sabotage’? No. He couldn’t.

And besides, he had left the texts unread for too long now, he couldn’t open them.

Remus stretched and got up out of his seat, cracking his back loudly. Frank’s eyes flicked up to meet his very briefly, and he quirked an eyebrow.

“That was a good one.”

Remus rolled his shoulders back. “It felt good, I won’t lie to you.”

Remus made his way back to the counter to start preparing their dinner, putting all thoughts of the weekend out of his mind. It was nice here in the kitchen with Frank, in their own little corner of the world. Here in Wales,  _ Bake Off _ was a distant future, and Sirius was just a distraction from what was important. He let himself imagine, for a brief moment, that Frank really was his boyfriend, and that this was their house, just the two of them. It was a nice thing to think about, but something panged in his stomach. There was something missing.

As much as thinking about Sirius made him feel riddled with guilt, he just couldn’t stop himself. He made Remus feel like a nervous teenager all over again; hyperaware of every tiny thing about himself, tripping over his thoughts as they hastily raced around his brain. His limbs always felt too long, too clumsy, around Sirius; he always felt like he was too quiet and too awkward and like everything he said was stupid. On all accounts, being around Sirius should have made Remus feel terrible, but he was addicted. Sirius had moved into Remus’s brain and was going to squat in there for as long as he pleased.

Remus looked up from the potatoes he was peeling and allowed his eyes to fall upon Frank. The light from his laptop screen caressed the features of his soft, round face, reflecting back in his dark eyes. He really was the polar opposite of Sirius, whose beauty was sharp and angular.  Frank’s was bright and approachable – Sirius’s looks were untouchable, aloof and unapproachable.

Frank raised his gaze and caught Remus looking at him, shooting him a soft smile.

“’You okay?” His voice was low, barely audible over his music.

God damn it, Frank was so  _ nice _ . Remus really ought to stop using him as his own personal therapist.

Remus nodded, giving Frank a flat-mouthed smile, looking back down at his potatoes and carrying on prepping them to go on the hob. Frank didn’t seem to be satisfied with Remus’s answer – either that or he was just getting bored of the numbers again and was searching for a distraction.

“What were you thinking about? You were looking at me funny.”

Remus shook his head. “Oh, nothing, I was just falling madly in love with you.”

“Ha  _ ha _ ,” Frank said, sarcasm thick in his voice, “that’s good because I was too.”

“Falling in love with yourself?” Remus lifted an eyebrow, glancing at Frank with a smirk. 

Frank nodded. “Of course, you know what Mama Ru says.”

“Something transphobic, I expect.” Remus shot back, shrugging. 

They laughed. Easy. Remus felt his shoulders relax at the sound. 

Yes, he thought, he had been right – this was  _ almost  _ perfect. Being around Frank just felt like things slotted into place so smoothly – the humour flowed freely, but he could get work done without distraction and could bounce ideas back and forth without fear of judgement. It had all the elements of an ideal relationship. Everything, except the most important thing. They weren’t dating, because they had no interest in dating. Remus  _ liked _ Frank, sure, and Frank wasn’t exactly disgusting to look at, but he wasn’t what Remus was looking for.

He wasn’t Sirius.

_ Fuck _ .

Remus put down the knife he had been slicing up potatoes with and leaned against the countertop, steadying himself with his arms outstretched. He closed his eyes as he turned over this new information in his head. He had known that he  _ fancied _ Sirius, sure, but now he was starting to realise just  _ why _ the rejection of the previous weekend had hit him so hard. That dinner had been it for him, he thought, he had fallen for Sirius and  _ hard _ .

_ Fuck. Fuck  _ _ fuck _ _ fuck. _

“I’m not going to ask again because I know you’ll just brush me off.” Frank’s voice came from the table, and Remus could practically hear him shaking his head.

Remus considered the possible outcomes of voicing what he had just realised to Frank. He couldn’t imagine anything negative happening, besides Frank laughing at him, so Remus swallowed and opened his eyes.

“You know I said I fucked things up with one of the bakers?”

Frank nodded slowly, pressing his lips together as if he was steeling  himself for something.

“Well, like, I sort of -”

“Did you want to fuck him?” Frank could sense Remus’s struggle and, as usual, voiced exactly what Remus had been trying to say. Sometimes it was nice, but this time it just annoyed Remus.

“ _ Yes _ , I wanted to fuck him.” Remus spoke bitterly, picking up the knife again and attacking the potatoes as he spoke. “I think I just realised that maybe I wanted a bit more than that.”

Frank laughed lightly, but it wasn’t malicious. There was a fondness in his laugh that sounded endeared, as if Remus was a stupid kid. Remus threw the potatoes into a pan and picked it up, carrying it over to the sink, facing away from Frank but watching him in the reflection of the window.

“You only just realised that?”

Remus switched on the tap, covering the raw potatoes with water. “Okay, smart arse, some of us aren’t as good at processing our emotions as you are.”

Frank shrugged. “It’s a blessing and a curse,” he said, looking back down at his laptop, typing something, his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated for a brief moment, “do you love him?”

Remus almost dropped the heavy pot. “I’ve known him for four weeks, Frank.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,  it's not like we’re lesbians.”

***

Frank had insisted on driving Remus to the train station, stating that the ‘benefits’ of their friends with benefits situation could probably extend to giving Remus lifts in his old beat-up car, seeing as neither of them could really afford the luxury of Ubers all the time. Remus had reluctantly accepted, feeling incredibly guilty for taking up so much of Frank’s time, especially now he knew that Alice’s PhD was on the line too. Frank hadn’t spoken about Alice since the night before, and tensed up whenever he heard her crashing around upstairs, but Remus hoped it was all just research drama.

A twist in his stomach told him that it probably wasn’t.

Frank waved Remus off at the station, getting out of the car and pulling the taller man into a tight hug, his hands around Remus’s waist, resting on the small of his back. It was nice, and Remus wrapped his arms around Frank’s shoulders in response, leaning his cheek against Frank’s buzzed hair. 

“Good luck, mate.” Frank whispered, giving Remus one last squeeze before releasing him. He hopped up onto his tiptoes for a moment to press a chaste kiss on Remus’s lips, and reached up to ruffle his curls, “for the baking, too.”

Remus smiled at him, trying not to show the fear on his face that had been building for the entire car ride. He would be seeing Sirius in only a few hours. Or, he wouldn’t. And it would all be his fault.

Remus wasn’t sure which was worse.

The sick feeling in his stomach only grew more and more aggressive as the train ride progressed, and upon arrival at Newbury he thought he might just pull a James and vomit all over the taxi that Lucius Malfoy rushed him into. He watched the streets roll by out of the window and tried to keep his lunch down, picking at the skin around his fingers. He couldn’t get comfortable, and he couldn’t slow his brain down. As he sat there, a thousand different versions of Remus and Sirius’s future confrontation flashed through his mind – some big dramatic fights, others silent and passive aggressive looks across the tent. Every single one of them was awful.

He hurried up to his room as soon as he arrived at the hotel, not wanting to bump into anyone and be forced into any conversation. Remus tried to nap, lying in the luxuriously big bed, but found he was too uncomfortable. It was as if something was stuck in his throat. He could barely breathe.

Remus got out of bed after an hour, making his way over to the vanity and sitting down, staring at himself for a few moments. He looked better than he had last week – less like a zombie and more like the regular old chronically ill twenty-something he was in reality. There were still deep, dark circles hanging under his eyes, but he was less haggard. 

Well fucked, as Mary would say.

Remus decided that if he wasn’t going to be able to sleep the evening away, he may as well attempt to work. He hadn’t posted on his blog in two weeks, and it was starting to become an issue. He had a sponsorship deadline coming up, and he was supposed to be sending them a first draft of his book review by the end of Sunday. He had managed to finish the book during the week, and Frank had shown him a new note-taking method that had helped him to keep all of his thoughts organised, but he hadn’t written a single word. All he had thought about all week had been pies and Sirius.

Remus took his laptop out from his backpack and set it up on the vanity like a desk, putting on his usual writing playlist and attempting to bash out a first draft. It was a struggle – the words kept getting stuck and nothing seemed to flow like it had used it. He pondered for a moment if he had simply forgotten how to write in the span of two weeks, but pushed the thought away. It was always difficult to write when he was in a bad place, he just had to try and break through the barrier. He just needed to get a few thousand words down – they didn’t even need to be that good, they just needed to be there.

He was interrupted three hours later by a knock on his bedroom door. His mind was instantly filled with a picture of Sirius, but he was proved wrong when his visitor spoke.

“Remus? The front desk told me this was your room; I hope you don’t mind me coming to check on you?” It was James. “Are you okay?  You haven’t been replying to my texts.”

Remus felt the guilt in his stomach come back, but for a completely different reason.  Of  _ course _ , James had been worried. Remus had completely dropped off of the face of the earth. He should have at least told him not to worry.

Remus heard a second voice in the corridor, further off and harder to make out. He could tell it was Lily from the Yorkshire lilt, but her words were lost on him.

“Oh, I’m just checking in with Remus, I hadn’t heard from him all week.” James was talking to Lily. Remus wasn’t sure if he should be listening in, but felt it was too late to interrupt now. “I was just worried – he seemed upset last weekend. No, it wasn’t me who upset him! Oh, come on, Lily, that’s not fair.” A pause, then James’s voice louder through the door, directed this time to Remus. “Listen, you don’t need to talk to me about it, I get that you’re anxious. I just want to know that you’re okay.”

Remus sighed and pushed himself up and out of his seat and dragged himself to the door, pulling it open to face James, who was looking decidedly  ruffled. Remus heard the lift doors ding down the corridor.

“Oh, thank god,” James let out a deep sigh, reaching up and messing up his hair at the nape of his neck, “me and Dorcas were worried you might have dropped out.”

Remus frowned, feeling another guilty twist in his stomach. “Shit, erm,” Remus closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing. When he opened them again, he forced himself to hold James’s gaze, “sorry, I just haven’t had a good week.”

James nodded. “I figured, I’ve just been worried, is all.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and shrugged his shoulders, drawing them up to his ears and flattening his mouth. 

“I should have texted I was just -”

“It’s fine, honestly. Do you want to come to dinner? We’re all eating together tonight.” James pointed over his shoulder with a thumb, inclining his head. Remus shook his – he couldn’t see Sirius, not right now.

“I’m just going to get room service, I think.” He tried to make it sound casual, but Remus could see James’s eyebrows shoot up sympathetically.

“He’ll come around – he knows you weren’t being malicious, deep down. He’s always took things to heart like this but he always gets over it.”

It was nice to hear James say it, but it didn’t make Remus feel any better. All it told him was what he had been dreading all week: Sirius was still angry with him. 

Remus didn’t say anything – he didn’t know  _ what _ to say – so James carried on. 

“You probably  _ should _ apologise in person, though.”

Remus nodded. “I know, I just –” Remus cut himself off, looking down at his feet and taking a long breath, “no, you’re right, I will.”

James reached out an arm and placed a warm hand on Remus’s shoulder. It was a good feeling, comforting. 

“You should probably do it tonight – no hard feelings in the tent, eh?”

Again, he was right. “Yeah, I will.”

“So, dinner?” James looked hopeful, a smile appearing on his lips, snaking up his cheek. Remus shook his head again.

“No, I don’t want to bring any hostility in. Do you know Sirius’s room number?”

“Sure - he’s in three  oh five, down the hall.” James pointed in the direction of Sirius’s room. “I was just about to get  him; do you want me to come with?”

Remus frowned. He would much rather do this without an audience. “No, that’s okay. I’ll let him know you’re all going to dinner, if you like?”

James nodded, taking a step back and swinging his arms by his side, clearly ready to head off. “That would be great; tell him to meet me down there. Good luck, mate, try not to take anything he says too personally – he lives for the drama, like I said.”

James gave Remus a wave before heading off down the hall, leaving him stood in the empty doorway, feeling more alone than ever. That was it, then. He had committed to it. He had to speak to Sirius. Right now. In his hotel room. Or, rather, in the hallway outside – possibly through a locked door that Sirius would refuse to open.  _ God _ , this was terrifying.

He stretched, attempting to loosen the tension that had built up in his shoulders. It didn’t work. Sighing, Remus went back to the vanity and slipped his key card into the pocket of his corduroys before leaving his hotel room, closing the door behind him. 

The walk up the corridor seemed to take hours, despite only being a few seconds. As he passed the doors on either side of him, Remus was replaying every scenario he had dreamt up – Sirius yelling at him, telling Remus he never wanted to speak to him again; Sirius refusing to open the door, making Remus beg for forgiveness in front of everyone right there in the corridor while everyone watched.

Remus felt like he was going to be sick.

Three  oh five. This was it. Remus steeled himself, standing up a little  straighter . He told himself that there was no backing out now, he had said to James that he would do this, and he couldn’t let James down. James was always so good, so kind and welcoming – Remus had to do this for him.

No, Remus had to do this for himself. And he had to do it for Sirius.

As much as he had been panicking all week, it was deserved. Remus had made a mistake, and he needed to own up to it. Maybe Sirius hadn’t responded in the most rational way, but that wasn’t for Remus to decide. Sirius had reacted exactly how he needed to, and so had Remus. They needed to put that aside and try to move past it now.

Remus knocked on the door.

“One second!” Sirius’s voice was light and airy – clearly, he thought that James was out there. Remus thought it best to give Sirius some warning.

“Uh, it’s me, just so you know.”

There was no reply, but Remus heard a loud thump, followed by a lot of fumbling and murmuring. After what felt like an hour, the door swung open and Remus was confronted with Sirius’s beautiful, angry face, less than a meter from him. Within his grasp but infinitely far away.

“What do you want?” There was no positivity in Sirius’s features, nothing that indicated that his mood had changed over the week. It was evident that he hadn’t been told to leave the competition, he was still there after all, but that didn’t  seem to have changed his attitude.

All of the apologies and words that Remus had saved up in his head suddenly fell out from his ears. He had no idea what to say. His mouth dropped open, but all he could do was stutter for a few moments while he scrambled over the discarded pile of sentiments that had all tumbled away.

“Uh - um, I just wanted to say I’m sorry in person, I know I texted but that wasn’t good enough.” Remus could feel his heartbeat in his temples. His chest felt tight, like a great snake had coiled itself around him and was squeezing all of the air out of him. 

Something flickered across Sirius’s face so briefly that Remus couldn’t tell if it was real or if it had just been his hopeful imagination. He nodded once, slowly, his grey eyes meeting Remus’s for a moment before trailing away again. Sirius didn’t say anything, which was fair enough, Remus hadn’t exactly given a good apology.

“Look, I didn’t think before I spoke,” Remus continued, piecing together the shards of the speech that he had been going over and over in his brain all week, “and what I said could have gotten you in a  _ lot _ of trouble. It was careless of me, and I promise that I will never bring it up again. I’m sorry for not saying sorry earlier, too – it should have been the first thing I did, but instead I just ran away like  _ my _ feelings were more important than yours, which is arrogant, because you were the one who was hurt. You were perfectly entitled to say what you said, I just reacted badly to it.”

Sirius just stood there and said nothing. It was clear he was listening, taking it all in, but he didn’t speak. Remus hated him for it. He felt like he just had to keep going until Sirius stopped him, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“But, yeah, I’m sorry. I was careless, it could have had really bad consequences, and I didn’t consider them. I didn’t prioritise your feelings over my own afterwards and I let you stew over this for a week when really, we should have resolved it straight away. I feel really bad about it, and you don’t need to forgive me, I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry.”

Remus let out a breath, indicating to Sirius that he had said all that he could. Any more and he would just be repeating himself again and again until Sirius was sick of hearing him speak. Sirius just stared at him, letting the silence lay heavy in the air between them, weighing down on them like it never had done before. Sirius nodded once.

“I forgive you; I know it was an accident,” Sirius said, and Remus felt instantly twenty times better, “and what I said afterwards wasn’t fair on you. I am a little hurt that you thought apologising to me over text about this was enough, though.”

Remus’s stomach churned. 

“Yeah, that’s fair. I just -” Remus stopped himself. He couldn’t just use his anxiety as an excuse. He shook his head, “no, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

“Are you? I didn't realise.” That smile was starting to appear on Sirius’s lips again. It wasn’t quite ready to make an appearance, but it was flirting with his mouth, teasing Remus – showing him that their past relationship was back in reach. “Maybe you should say it one more time, just in case.”

Remus blew air out of his nose and shook his head in lieu of a laugh. He wasn’t sure if he could push himself to laugh just yet. He wasn’t sure if Sirius would let him, but he was happy that Sirius felt that they could joke again. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” Remus shrugged, raising his eyebrows. Sirius finally allowed the smirk to appear on his face and Remus felt the weight between them dissipate somewhat. There was still some there, but it felt a little easier to carry. “James told me to tell you he’s gone down for dinner, by the way, he said he’d meet you down there.”

“Are you not coming?” Sirius asked, surprise falling across his features for a moment. Remus shrugged.

“I wasn’t going to.”

Sirius reached out and hit Remus lightly on the shoulder. “Ah, come on, we didn’t show up last week so we have to this week or people might think there’s something going on.” His eyes twinkled as he ended the sentence, the hand still lingering on Remus’s shoulder for a moment, before the contact was lost and the magic disappeared. Sirius stepped out of his room and shut the door, stepping past Remus into the hallway. 

Remus supposed that there was no reason for him to not go now that Sirius seemed to be okay with him again, so he followed. He still didn’t know what to say. Sirius seemed comfortable going back to their old banter, but Remus was worried that it wouldn’t really go both ways. He decided to keep his mouth shut, pressing the button for the lift and waiting silently by Sirius for the doors to open. Sirius glanced up at him with a strange look in his eye, a softness around the edges that Remus wasn’t sure he’d seen before.

“You  _ are _ okay, aren’t you, Moony?” He asked, his voice quiet.

Remus looked down at him, meeting his gaze. 

“Yeah,” he lied, “I’m fine.”

***

Star baker. Star  _ bloody  _ baker.

How the fuck had Remus pulled that one off?

The cameras were trained on him as he held his phone up to his face, on speakerphone so that they could pick up the response on the other side. Frank’s phone rang five times and it felt like an eternity – Remus thought it would look pretty pathetic if no one picked up the phone – until his voice cracked through the silence, speaking with an edge of concern.

“Remus, is everything okay?” The tinny voice asked. Remus could barely contain  himself; he was so excited he felt like he was going to burst.

“I got star baker!” He didn’t know how his cheeks could contain his smile, it felt like his face was about to split open. The tension and fear he had been feeling all week had left a big void, and the amount of joy he was feeling was still able to make him feel like he was overflowing. He didn’t think he’d ever been happier in his life.

Frank started shouting, the phone signal making him sound fuzzy, but his own excitement cutting through the distance between them clearly in the afternoon sunlight. “Oh my  _ god _ , that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you! Did I not tell you?  _ Mate _ !”

Remus could practically hear Frank punching the air. Remus didn’t know what else to say, he just stood there grinning like an idiot for the cameras, listening to Frank’s celebrations.  _ Pride _ , that’s what he was feeling. It had been a long time since he had felt proud of himself.

“Well done, Moony, those pies were amazing!” James slapped Remus on the back as they walked back up to the hotel later, a welcome chill in the air after the past few weeks of the heatwave. Everyone had been surprised that Remus had come out on top, not least Remus himself, seeing as he did not feel that pastry was his strong suit. James hadn’t stopped beaming since Remus’s name had been called out. “Now all three of us have been star.”

James indicated to Sirius with a thumb. Sirius hadn’t said anything, but was smiling politely. Remus knew that Sirius liked pastry, and was worried that he felt that Remus had stolen his thunder, especially after the week that they had just had.

Kingsley had been sent home after his hand raised pie had collapsed in the oven. McGonagall hadn’t been happy that he had made the pie case on the inside of his tin, and the way the filling had spilled out seemingly proved her correct in her method preference. Remus had admired his determination to continue with the method he had been practicing – he knew that if McGonagall had indicated that he was doing something in a way that she didn’t like, he would have caved in immediately, even if it was the opposite of what he had been practicing for months. It was just unfortunate that Remus’s approval wasn’t what was important.

They had a farewell dinner for Kinglsey in the hotel restaurant, raising a toast to him and his absolutely delicious roulade from the week before. As the weeks progressed and they had reached the midway point of the competition, more and more of the bakers were deciding to stay the last night and go home on the Monday morning. Remus supposed that they must have been feeling like they were missing out, especially seeing how close those who had been staying had been getting.

“Can’t believe I just got around to booking Mondays off of work and I get sent home the same week.” Kingsley sighed, shaking his head and taking a long drink of his pale ale.

“Sod’s law,” Sirius tutted, shaking his head, “it’s your punishment for trying to infiltrate our tight-knit group.”

Dorcas raised her eyebrows, holding her wine glass up to her lips, a smile playing with the corners of her mouth. “Very tight-knit, in some cases.” She and Sirius held eye contact for a few moments and Sirius squirmed in his seat. Dorcas’s gaze was steely, and she smirked.

“No idea what you’re talking about, Meadowes.”

She shook her head and sipped on her wine, placing the glass back down on the table and going back to her risotto. Remus frowned, but his question was answered before he could even think it.

“We only went to dinner because I’m sick of eating this same tomato pasta every week.” Sirius said, waving the limp fusilli on his fork bitterly before jamming it into him mouth and chewing indignantly. 

James, who was very drunk an account of being granted the next day off by his father, pointed his fork at Sirius accusingly. “’Could have invited us though, couldn’t you?”

“Shut up, Prongs.” Sirius sounded almost dark. James didn’t seem  perturbed .

“Why didn’t you invite us, eh?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow and held out a hand to him, as if displaying James to the rest of the diners. “Because you’re a prat.”

James nodded. “That’s fair.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://biremus.tumblr.com) and twitter [here](https://twitter.com/lottasoup)


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